


Inseparable

by Hades_the_Blingking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 0.05 percent angst (I tried so hard), 5x12 Swap Meat is included, Because the Samifer tag needs a laugh, Canon-Typical Violence, Cowboys, Crossdressing but not in the sexy way and not from who you might think, Dean is done, Dick drunk, Dongle the Demon has a plan but he's also shit, Drunkenness, Forked Tongue Fuckery, French hunters, Hair Pulling Kink, Happy Sam is my Kink, Humour, I actually had to write 2 Supernatural episodes for this fic, M/M, Magic Gone Wrong, Monster of the Week, Ridiculous but plausible scenarios, S5 Supernatural Alternative, SO MUCH CONSENT yay, Sam is So Bitchy, Sass, Some of the best porn I have ever written tbh, Vampires, Very Confused Police, Very Gay TM, Wing Kink, and I mean that, but so is Lucifer, c'mon it's Lucifer, dark humour, everyone are just trashlords ok, everyone is trash, everyone makes bad life decisions, huge amounts of porn, it's a laugh, not quite crack but humor, sam is also a shit, shitlords made for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 76,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hades_the_Blingking/pseuds/Hades_the_Blingking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/><em>Set in S5 right after 5x11 Sam, Interrupted.</em> </p>
<p> Lucifer is free. The Apocalypse is on the tracks and ready to roll. Then the actions of one demon turns everything on its head, and suddenly Sam finds himself with <em>the worst</em> companion imaginable, Lucifer finds himself attached in ways he wants to slap someone for, Dean still blames Sam for the Apocalypse and the demon blood fiasco, and Castiel gets dragged into a huge mess that is neither his or his DeanBean's fault (kind of).</p>
<p>Basically, in which everyone makes terrible life decisions, everyone needs a drink, but it will all probably work out ok somehow in the end.</p>
<p>Comments are very much appreciated! c:</p>
<p>Now you can listen to the awesome podcast by Little_Winged_Angel <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333645"> here!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Dongle The Demon Has A Plan And Everything Gets Off To A Bad Start

Dongle the Demon tucked his cart into a cupboard and dusted off his tentacles. The cupboard gave a hungry gurgle, and Dongle sighed as he heard the telltale crunch of his materials being chewed to pulp. Sounded like Fresky had forgotten to feed the cupboard again. Forgotten as in she and half the other Jezrous were probably hiding in the shadows of the rocky ceiling laughing as ‘Dongle the Drongo’ had his cleaning cart eaten again. Even with their Great Lord and Majesty, Oh Ace One of Darkness, He Who Doth Bring Terror to the Earth with His Flame and Inappropriate Tongue Movements ruling, Hell still kind of sucked. Dongle trudged away as titters rained down from the ceiling.  
He had six hours (Hell liked to work by the number six) before his next shift, which meant begging Shanaenae, Queen of the Cleaners, for another trolley. Which he’d already done five times this week, and with it being a six day week, it might seem a bit much. If only there were a way to get out of this eternal cycle of blood-mopping, ash-shovelling (and ass-shovelling sometimes) and Shanaenae-grovelling. Lucifer, Glorious He, Sexual Tyrannosaurus of the Ages, _had_ promised the Greatest of Great rewards to any demon that could get him his true vessel, Sam Winchester. But it was like the Friday night game of Find the Toenail in the Fingernail pile. You’d flop and flail and make a right drongo of yourself before some other, smarter, higher-class demon would just flick their finger and succeed. Dongle sighed. Maybe he should try. You never know – maybe he’d get lucky this one time in his eternal, unfortunate life.

With a poof that smelled suspiciously of Pine-O-Clean, Dongle re-appeared in the Grand Coven’s Archives. They weren’t that active at the moment, but only last week had they lost dear old Dave the Slave to the unfortunate symptoms of the Animatus Intestinus spell. Well, they’d lost Dave and gained a set of very violent, toothy intestines that had last been seen pretending to be a trendy-looking scarf in the lower reaches of Hell. Which, coincidentally, was how they’d also lost Pierre, the Modern Art Demon. But nobody cared about Pierre.

Dongle turned to the shelves and shelves of tomes that seemed to exude their own dust. Maybe some of them did. The aisles all had labels written, not in another, strange and mysterious language, but in font that was pretty much illegible. One either said Transformation or Transdimension, but Dongle had a feeling Oh Father of Heinousness and Lord of the (both Sexual and Fiery) Rings, Lucifer, might be a little sad if his vessel was hurled into another dimension. Needless to say, Dongle avoided that aisle. In fact, most of the aisles didn’t seem fragile-vessel-friendly, and then one caught the cleaner’s eye. Written in clear Comic Sans, it simply said ‘For April 1st’. Perhaps this was some kind of grand celebration for witches, some important ritual so powerful that they couldn’t afford to lose it in their unfortunate font choices. With a gruntled little pop, Dongle padded down the aisle, right to the end where all the powerful Magicks were kept. He couldn’t go using some pathetic little poof of a spell if he wanted to impress the Mighty Morningstar, the Sweet-As, Winner Winner Chicken Dinner King of Hell. 

It took Dongle two and a half hours to find the perfect one. Oh boy, he just about spat ink with excitement. How come none of the other demons had thought of this? Maybe they just didn’t have his ingenuity, his creativity, his…high level of desperation to avoid trolley-begging Queen Shenaenae.  
Dongle read over the spell, his garbage-eating mouth wide and toothy with excitement.

_To Bind A Vessel To Its Angel_

_Ingredients:_  
_Essence of Subject 1_ – well, finding Winchester hair or blood shouldn’t be too difficult; a spot check of most trash motels should do it.  
_Essence of Subject 2_ – something of Great and Powerful, King of all Kings, The Unholy and Perfect Booty Lucifer would be more difficult to find, but it seemed Dongle was on a roll today with ideas.  
_Feathers of a 10 year old Bald Eagle_  
_Ear of Objectively Cute Puppy Dog_  
_5 litres of Virgin Blood_  
_The Sacrifice of an Irish Man, any age will do, but he must have a sense of humour._  
_Six stegosaurus bones of gradually larger size._

Dongle read over the intricate, but do-able instructions and came to the results as his being pulsed with the red aura of a happy little demon.

_Results:_  
_Angel and vessel shall be bound together, two as one, one as inseparable as beyond the power of all powers. There shall be no separation and separation there shall be none of; forsooth, inseparable they shall be, without separate-ness in their inseparable state. No angel, nor demon, nor humankind may separate them, for their inseparableness is beyond separation; no separations shall take place and take place shall no separations. They shall be inseparable._

It looked as though Oh Tongue of Great Power and Skill Lucifer wouldn’t even need his vessel’s permission with this spell! Oh boy, Dongle had hit gold, he had hit gold big time! With an excited squee, the janitor demon vanished.

 

“Dolores!” Dongle called and suckered down the slight pit Dolores called home.  
“What is it my dear?” The demon’s fish-like skin had crumpled like a wet tissue with age and she wore spectacles she’d stolen from some soul with bad vision.  
“Spawn-mother, may I borrow your old cleaning cart for just a little bit? The one with the 400 psi pressure hose?” He wheedled and gave her his best puppy-dog eyes. About twenty in a bag should be fair payment to borrow a cart.  
“Ooh, just what I needed for my organ trifle!” Dolores hefted the bag and nodded. “As long as you stay for a little tripe tart when you come back! Ug said the bits and pieces were fresh off the torture floor!”  
Dongle’s mouth lit up with acid-saliva at the thought of Spawn Mother’s bile-marinated, coagulated-blood tripe tart. Maybe today wasn’t such a bad day.  
“Of course Dolores!” He waved his pale blue tentacles in happiness and suckered back up the wall to Spawn-Mother’s well-fed cleaning closet. It burbled for a moment, then slid the cleaning cart out into the blue-rock dispatch bay. “Good closet.”  
It grumbled, then closed its doors. Dongle took a deep breath, steadied the tick of nerves in his large toe-claw and headed down further than he’d ever been before.

“Who goes there?” Four huge Glaebrezu stood stoic in front of the door to The Cage Abyss. Horns gleamed like wicked scimitars out from their furred heads and white-hot coals seemed to burn where there should have been eyes. A cold, black-scaled hand tensed around the spear of the front most one as it took in the lowly Jezrou before it.  
“Cleaning Jezrou 4294 reporting for duty, Sir.” Dongle sighed in what he hoped was a bored tone.  
“We have been informed of no such scheduled cleaning here.” The Glaebrezu boomed and its eyes sizzled a little, but Dongle held his ground. If he could get this to work, they would be cleaning _his_ home-pit.  
“Look, if you want to tell his Lord of Unholiness that you didn’t let The Cage Abyss get cleaned, then be my guest.” Dongle drawled. “Do you know the amount of energy grime that gets built up on those chains? Not to mention probably abyss-crabs who need relocating to ‘Swarms’, rust here, rust there, rust everywhere, and the terrible ozone smell from the force field needs a real spritz of – “  
“Ok, ok, alright.” The Glaebrezu grumbled and nodded to its fellows. “But no messing around alright?”  
“Messing around?” Dongle voice rose to an indignant squelch, emboldened by his own success. “My job is the opposite of ‘messing’ thank you very much.”  
And with his tentacles held high, he wheeled his trolley on to one of the chains of The Cage Abyss. Any other demon would have been too large to stand on them with a full cleaning trolley, but Jezrous were made to get into every nook and cranny. Hopefully...  
The energy field crashed and boomed around him, and Dongle shivered right down to his black essence. This place zinged with power, even just the air around him. He couldn’t stay in here too long, else he’d probably disintegrate.

In the centre of the web of chains, The Cage hung like some grisly catch in a spider’s web. Its cold, dead energy seeped through Dongle like the cold buckets of ectoplasm Fresky sometimes dumped on him. That just set his mind even harder on the task. No more trollies being eaten, no more ectoplasm surprises.

The Cage loomed above Dongle, and for a moment he considered that this thing had been touched by Little Horn, the Great Winged Father, and he shivered. No. Soon people would be shivering in awe at the thought of the cleaning carts _he’d_ touched. It seemed God had been in some sort of Gothic-Neo Gothic architecture trend when he’d made The Cage. Its surfaces spun and coiled with thousands and thousands of interlaced patterns and designs, but here and there was a tiny, decorative hole. Just large enough for the average-sized cleaning pressure-hose nozzle to fit through. Dongle peered inside the thing and gave another squee of delight as he saw what he needed. White archangel feathers, from huge pinions to the fluffy down, were strewn across the Cage floor. In a rush of excitement, Dongle shoved a small meat hook into the end of the hose and guided it through the hole with his tentacles. It couldn’t go far; there seemed to be an inner wall of energy within the physical barrier, but one fluffy little feather had landed _just_ within reach…  
  
The Jezrou struggled with the hose and hook for fifteen minutes before he snagged the feather. Even a piece of archangel floof would be too large to fit through the hole, but he only needed a tiny bit, he only needed a molecule… Dongle gave a pop of delight as the smallest of strands peeked out the hole, like thread through a needle. But his excitement didn’t make him forget one touch of the feather would turn him to ash. So the janitor demon picked up a heavy-duty sponge, wrapped it around the retrieved strand and placed it with reverence in a bucket. Now all he had to do was eat some delicious tart and scour motels for the hair, nails or skin particles of one Sam Winchester. The virgin blood, eagle feathers, puppy ear, Irish man and stegosaurus bones would be all too easy.  
Perhaps he should tell someone about his endeavour. Maybe Dolores? No, Dongle clamped down on his pride. Dolores would tell others and if he succeeded, they’d claim the glory instead of him. No, when His Fantastic-ness, King of Sin and Good Campfire Horror Stories, Lucifer, arose in his rightful vessel and wondered who had been the greatest and best servant, Dongle would step forward, spell scroll as proof of his devotion and success. And then he’d get his own palace, his own squid-harem, a cleaning cart made of pure gold… In a happy dream, Dongle exited the Cage Abyss and made his way toward tart and troublesome life decisions.

****

_One week later._

“Just try it.”  
Dean looked at the goo-spattered leaf Sam proffered him on a fork and wrinkled his nose.  
“Dude, you stick to your rabbit food and I’ll stick to my warrior fuel, thank you.” The older Winchester brother unwrapped his burger with gusto.  
“Dean, honest-to-God, how long has it been since you’ve had a vegetable not drenched in burger fat or deep-fry oil?” Health guru of the century devoured his green shit like a goat on steroids, and Dean shrugged.  
“Since I’ve had dignity?” He took a smug bite of his burger as Sam managed a decent bitch-face even through his salad-filled chipmunk cheeks. “How’s the case search going anyway?”  
Sam sighed and tapped at the laptop open on their motel-room table. “Apocalypse is still going strong it seems. Fires, floods, earthquakes…hmmm. Looks like some children have disappeared. ‘Last seen playing near Beckett’s Riverside School of Riding’ but they’ve dredged the river three times over and not found anything. Could be something?”  
“Or a creep with a white van?” Dean munched and fell into the usual burger-bliss. How did Sam resist the divine temptation of such a glorious combination of bread, fried meat and tangy, salty, decadent sauce? Then again, the only thing Sammy didn’t seem to be able to resist were of less-than-divine quality. 

He eyed his brother with a smidge of reproach. How long before Sam jumped off the wagon and gulped down more demon juice? How long before his little brother turned into that black-eyed monster that Chuck had described? Sam seemed to catch his look, but said nothing of it. Well, he kinda deserved it for, y’know releasing the Lucifer Kraken.  
“ _Or_ it could be a child-snatching demon thing.” Sam impaled a doomed slice of tomato with a plastic fork, a weapon Dean knew he could kill a man with. Their dad hadn’t been lax on the improvised weapon sessions. “Since when have you not wanted to save children?”  
“Hey, I never said anything about not wanting to save children!” Dean took an offended bite of his burger and glared at the smug eyebrows that lifted at him across the table. “Alright, let’s go, let’s do it, but if it is a creep with candy, then you’re buying dinner for a week.”  
The moose-man rolled his eyes and snapped the laptop shut. “Fine. Beer?”  
“Dude, when have I ever said no to beer?” Dean had a small suspicion that Sam’s new thing for getting him beer or letting him sleep in later or allowing him to play his music a little louder was to do with some kind of apology for freeing El Diablo from the Devil Hole, but he wasn’t really sure what Sam could do to cut it at this point. True, Dean _had_ broken the first seal and the angels could have stopped any of the others along the way, but Sam had picked a demon to trust over him. Bobby’s fond yet heartfelt growl of ‘idjit’ hadn’t quite fit the bill.

Then Sam screamed. He dropped to the floor, halfway to the fridge and curled in on himself. His large limbs convulsed and Dean dropped to his side, demon-blood withdrawal symptoms on spin cycle through his head.  
“Sam? Sammy!” He grabbed those wide shoulders and hauled his brother into the recovery position, as if that would do anything if Sam started to fly around the walls. “Sam, c’mon!”  
Sam spasmed, another harsh cry tore out of his throat and his legs kicked out against the threadbare carpet. There was a whoosh of wings and Dean spun about.  
“Cas, thank – “

Instead of the familiar wide blue eyes, tan trenchcoat and shock of black hair, the last sonofabitch Dean wanted to lay eyes on in the entire Universe stood in the centre of their room. It took Dean a second to notice that Sam’s screams had stopped.  
“Lucifer.” His younger brother’s tone was thick with hatred as they both scrambled to their feet, and Dean planted himself like a bandy-legged tree between Sam and the blonde archangel.  
“Sam.” Lucifer smiled as though he and the Sasquatch were life long pals who hadn’t met up in years. “You summoned me. Although you could’ve just asked.”  
Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked back at Lucifer. Lucifer looked at the pair of them. Crickets chirped outside the window.  
“I did _not_ summon you!” Sam spat out and pointed at the Devil, eyes ablaze, although his tense muscles echoed Dean’s own fear and rage. Last time they’d come close quarters with this asshole, Ellen and Joe had been blown to smithereens. But now Lucifer had found them, had somehow seen through the wards…Screw this. He whipped out his pearl-handled pistol and shot Lucifer straight in the heart.  
“Seriously?” Lucifer sighed and narrowed his eyes on Dean as the wound closed before it even had time to bleed. But before Satan could bring some pain to the party, Sam hit the deck like a redwood for the second time that day. Crimson welled from a wound…right over his heart, in the exact spot Dean had shot Lucifer.  
“Sam!” Dean ignored the Devil and scrambled to his brother. The pulse in Sam’s neck stuttered and then it was gone. Sam was gone. No no no…Dean’s head spun. It’d been so fast, too fast…  
“Interesting.” Lucifer’s calm tone made Dean just want to smash his nose into a broken pulp, but the archangel flicked a hand and breath lurched back into his younger brother’s body.  
“What?” Lucifer shrugged and crossed his arms with a stupid smirk. “Couldn’t have my favourite human dying on me, now could I?”  
His ice blue eyes flicked to Sam, who panted and palmed the red patch on his shirt. “What the hell just happened.”  
“I shot Lucifer and – you died?” Dean tried and looked between the archangel and his brother.  
“Well if you didn’t summon me and I didn’t find you…then how did this party get started, hm?” Lucifer winked and pointed at Sam. “Sit tight.”

There was a flap, then silence, then screaming. Sam was really going through the wars today. Then their least favourite angelic douchebag appeared, but this time with less of a calm composition. He clutched the bench so hard that it cracked and crumbled as he panted and looked toward the pair of them with ice blue eyes that burned with both confusion and anger.  
“Hey, hey, we have a deposit on that! And what the Hell did you do to Sam?” Dean clutched his brother’s arm.  
“I – “  
“Wait, wait, wait.” Sam tore away from Dean and snatched a knife up from the bed. Before either Dean or Lucifer could stop him, he’d unsheathed it and slit a clean cut into his forearm.  
“Ah!” Lucifer hissed and looked between his own bleeding arm and Sam’s bleeding arm. Sam lifted his head up with wonder, then glanced at Dean.  
“If…if I kill myself…” Sam looked between his brother and the archangel, whose eyes had gone wide, but Dean’s mouth was open before he even finished his idiotic sentence.  
“No Sam, don’t you dare. I am _not_ losing you, even if it means not icing the Devil.” He pushed forward and ripped the knife out of Sam’s stupid-ass hands. He’d seen Sam die once today, and couldn’t do it again. They’d sort this out. They’d sort this out like they always did.  
“ _Dean –_ “  
“No, Sam, just no. Don’t you dare even think it.” Dean’s eyes flashed and he looked at their blonde third wheel with reproach.  
“Sounds like a good plan to me, Sammy.” Oh yeah, Lucifer was playing it cool, but for a split second they’d all seen he was shit-scared.  
“Shut up!” Sam growled and glowered down at the archangel. “Dean is the _only_ one keeping you alive right now, so you don’t hurt him, I don’t hurt you and we’ll figure this out.”

There was a moment of silence. Yeah, Dean liked the idea of riding shotgun with the Devil as much as the next guy, but it was better letting his little brother put a bullet in his own head. He couldn’t…he just couldn’t.  
“So…” Satan put a finger up to his lip and paced on their lino. “Since I can’t fly away without both of us having a hernia and my demons and brothers can’t see me like this – no prayers by the way, I’ll make sure of that…”  
He appeared on Sam’s bed and crossed his arms behind his head with a smirk that almost made Dean shoot him again. “What do you two do for fun?”  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome all to my new fanfic! Hope you all buckle in for a fun ride, because I am certainly having fun 8) Updates should be weekly. I'd love to know what you think of the first chapter, so why not leave a comment and tell me what you think? I'll love you to the moon and back. Stay awesome my homies!  
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	2. In Which Sam Considers Death By Spork And Lucifer Doesn't Get To Have Nice Things

“So what, he just rides along with us?” Sam hissed, even though Lucifer wasn’t in the room right now. It seemed an archangel of his power got bored all too easily had gone to sit on the roof or whatever – there seemed to be a fifteen or so metre radius before that electric agony kicked in. Maybe he was just invisible and lurking. Who knew, but it didn’t matter; he’d hear whatever they said anyway. 

Sam sucked in a breath and glared at his brother; he needed a solution, he needed Lucifer out of here _now_ because last time they’d talked, as much as Sam _never_ wanted to admit it, the Devil had been right. They were alike with their resentment and anger and differences. He knew he was a freak, he knew Dean looked at him sometimes like there was nothing left to be trusted, and he got that, yes, Ruby had been a major fuck up. But other times his brother looked at him like there was a huge hole in his face that needed to be fixed, like an imperfection that would never go away no matter how hard he tried. And that was why Lucifer scared him to all Hell. There had never been mistrust in the Devil’s eyes, or the wariness that screamed ‘freak’. Sam knew Lucifer would use him and trick him and do anything in the book to make him say yes, but ever since the freakin’ psychic dreams, he missed being looked at like there was nothing wrong with him and the way he… _enjoyed_ Lucifer’s gentleness, Lucifer’s acceptance, even if it was feigned… He needed the archangel gone. Now.  
“Dude,” Dean gave a sharp shrug of exasperation. “We can’t hurt him without taking you out too, you are _not_ blowing your brains out and he won’t hurt me because in this crazy little universe we live in, I’m the one between him being alive and being a new wallpaper decoration, ok? You get some sleep, I’ll keep watch on the douchebag.”

Sam gave a huff of frustration, but just shucked off his jeans and shirt, climbed into bed and stared at the naked lady silhouette wallpaper as Dean cleaned his guns by the table. This was an impasse that couldn’t be shifted. He was ready to die and take the winged bastard with him, but knowing Dean, his brother would rest at nothing to bring him, and probably Lucifer, back to life. If it was Dean connected to Lucifer…yes. He’d probably do the same. Sam sighed at their own stupid co-dependence and turned over onto his stomach like the adorable face-sleeper he was. How could he rest when Lucifer could be staring at his ass this very second? How could he sleep when he was roped to the Devil by some strange power? How could…Sam didn’t even get to finish his thought as a warm black closed over his mind and he pillow-snuggled into sleep. What he didn’t notice was the gun slip from Dean’s hand as he dozed off too.

  
  
Mmm. Sam knew he wasn’t dead and in Heaven because he was pretty sure he was headed in the other direction. But God…he felt as though he were encased in the perfect warmth. There was softness below him, silk kissed his skin above him and the pillow beneath his head was far from the musty, thin thing he had remembered half under his head, half hugged in his arms as he’d fallen asleep. Not to mention his legs actually fit on the bed. Must be a dream. So Sam snuggled into the warmth, didn’t dare to move in case the illusion dropped, and fell back into the best sleep of his life.

“What the hell!” An hour later his common sense seemed to catch up with his body and Sam bolted upright, then gaped in shock. What the hell indeed. A huge, gilt ceiling yawned above him into several Michaelangelo-esque painted groin vaults. Multi-coloured light poured in from the stained glass windows on his right, framed by polished oak that ran along all four of the long walls. The hunter grasped the sheets in shock and did a double-take as they slid like solid air beneath his fingers.  
“Morning, Sam.” Lucifer shot him a warm smile from behind the most ornate desk Sam had ever seen in his life, although, given their lives of trash motels, that didn’t take much. A thick tome that had Enochian letters inscribed on the front lay in front of the fallen archangel.  
“Breakfast?” Lucifer pointed to a silver cart beside the bed laden with trays and those cover things that Sam had only seen in movies. “They brought everything just in case.”  
“Is…is this a dream.” Sam remained frozen and at random realized he was still in his underpants. In…what, was this Italy?  
“No, but I’m a busy boy Sam, and since I can’t fly away from you, I took you with me.” Lucifer flicked over a page and Sam opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He hadn’t thought of that. “Besides that motel room was scraping the bottom of the barrel a bit, even by human standards. This is much better.”  
“Take me back.” Sam growled and eyed anything he could use to bludgeon himself and by proxy Lucifer into submission. There was something that looked like a silver spork by one of the dishes, but even Sam wasn’t sure whether he’d stoop that low.  
“Why Sam?” Lucifer sighed and relaxed his hands across the book. “Look, I’m trying to cure our little problem.”

The blonde archangel patted the tome, and Sam tried not to acknowledge how little judgement there was in those pale eyes. True, Lucifer was careful – at times he seemed to treat Sam like the regular Dr Doolittle might treat an unreasonable, scared animal. Like Sam didn’t understand what he was running from. But he didn’t care how much Lucifer wanted to solve this. He’d been kidnapped to Italy, was mostly naked and didn’t fancy the continuation of this Satanic OE, thank you very much.  
“Take me back now or – or I’ll make your life Hell.” Sam lifted his hand to his mouth and bit himself _hard_. Lucifer gasped in pain and his lips thinned as he scowled, but the Devil didn’t make a move to smack him upside the head. Then again, that would end up with them both being smacked upside the head.  
“Sam, I’m trying to help us! And isn’t it better without that depressed bucket of angst you call Dea – ow!” Lucifer touched his cheek as Sam merrily punched himself in the face.  
“Back. Now.” The hunter clenched his teeth and raised his fist again with a glorious bitchface.  
“Fine, Sam.” Satan sighed and snapped the book shut with a _very_ enduring look. Yes, Sam knew his behaviour was a little childish, but this way they could keep an eye on Satan. He couldn’t go off and release horsemen or murder entire cities without Sam trying to impale himself on a spork first. Not the way Sam wanted to go, but if it was the only option, he’d take it.

There was a whoosh of wings and a tingle of healing power in his hand and face and Sam sighed in relief as the mould-encrusted ceiling of their motel room popped back into view.  
“There you are!”  
Sam’s ears were barraged by Dean trying and failing not to show ‘unmanly’ emotion.  
“Where the hell did you go, what the hell did he do to you – “  
“Dean!” Sam cut through his brother’s questions and Dean looked him over. Which was a bit weird, since he only had underwear on. Lucifer perched on the kitchen counter and thumbed through the tome, although it felt as though something was off about the archangel. As though he wasn’t…comfortable? Was that the right word?  
“He just, kind of, kidnapped me to Italy, that’s all. But I’m back. Look at me. I’m fine.” Sam gestured to his abs that glistened in the morning sun, sat up from the bed and tugged on his jeans as Dean rounded on Satan.  
“You _kidnapped_ him?”  
“Strong word, but I suppose.” The archangel didn’t even look up from his book. “More like an impromptu holiday.”

Dean looked like he was literally about to explode or do something stupid like break both Satan and Sam’s nose, so the younger Winchester put a hand around his brother’s bicep.  
“Come on. We’ve still got a job to work. This doesn’t change anything.” Sam put on his best talking-to-the-unstable voice and Dean scowled. “It was kind of your idea after all.”  
“Yeah, well if he does that again, I’ll…” The green-eyed Disney princess shot Lucifer a dark look. “I’ll think of something.”

Lucifer followed them out to the Impala, but took one look at it and curled his lip. “I’m not getting in that thing.”  
“Well you ain’t zapping Sam anywhere, so move it.” Dean growled and Sam gave a sigh of frustration. True, his Satanic Majesty was probably the absolute worst sidekick they could have acquired, but things were never going to work, even in the short term, if they were all at each other’s throats.  
“Dean – “ Sam sighed, but Lucifer’s fierce glare made Dean take an involuntary step back. Then he looked to Sam and his expression softened, as it always did. The younger Winchester hit the Devil with the best puppy-dog eyes he had while he dropped a giant boulder of guilt on the happiness that glowed in him at that gentle gaze.  
“Take your machine. I have wings.” Lucifer’s voice was calm, but neither Winchester missed the ice beneath it. “And if you dare presume to command me again…”  
The archangel left the end of his statement up to the imagination and vanished.  
“Yeah, whatever.” Dean muttered and headed around to the driver’s side.

“So what’s the plan when we get to town?” Sam kept a casual tone as he slid into the familiar seat beside Dean.  
“We go to the Police station, then check out the crime scene.” The Impala started up with its usual rumble, and Sam couldn’t help but wonder what Lucifer was up to. Was he on the roof? It seemed to Sam that he tried to avoid confined spaces as much as possible.  
“How about we split up. I go see what’s at the Station and you check out the crime scene? We’ll get more done that way.” Sam knew he was pushing the dime a little; it would have been even without Lucifer as his side hoe, but in a way he could use Satan as an excuse to escape the tight leash his brother seemed to like him on nowadays.  
“Are you crazy? Leave you with Satan? No way.” Dean eyeballed him as though he’d grown moose horns. That was fair. Sam felt a strange affiliation to those majestic creatures, and even had dreams of charging through Canada in moose-form sometimes.  
“Dean, you two are just going to be at each other’s throats all the time.” Sam shrugged and tried not to look suspiciously happy about escaping from all the bowing and scraping Dean seemed to expect as penance all the time. He did have a fair point, but the constant apologetic behaviour did get tiresome, because Sam felt that no matter what he did, Dean wouldn’t really forgive him. “And what can he do to me that I can’t do to him? Seriously, I’ll punch my own lights out if I need to.”  
“And what if he…” Dean struggled and waved an uncommitted hand. “Leads you into temptation or whatever?”  
Seriously? After everything? 

The only thing that stopped a fist to Dean’s chops right then was a) he was the driver and b) a fizzle of strange happiness shot through Sam as the car plunged into the shadow of two huge wings. The feathers themselves must have been longer than the Impala, and they stretched far beyond the edge of America’s ridiculous, huge roads. A little smile crept on to Sam’s face before he could stop it, and for a second he could feel the wind on his face and the tickle of the breeze through sensitive things that spread from his back. Even with the brief glimpse, Sam could really see why Lucifer chose flight over a car.  
“You in there, Dreamboat?” Dean sent the wing-shadow an apprehensive look, but it vanished as suddenly as it had come. Outside the car, a great big banner emblazoned ‘Annual Fall Horse Show’ stretched above the road. Sam wondered for a moment whether Lucifer had to smoosh himself on to the roof of the Impala to stop being tangled up.  
“Yeah, Dean, and really?” He shot his brother an exasperated look, but after the sudden sensation, couldn’t be too pissed off. “After Ruby, after everything, you really think I’m going to side with the Devil?”  
“W- “  
“I’ll go to the Police Station, you go to where the children disappeared, ok?” Sam snapped and accidentally caught a little old lady on horseback with his glare. She glared right back. Time seemed to slow in their mutual glaring session, but then the moment passed and they both came away feeling like strange sort of random-anger comrades.  
“Fine. But if Lucifer drags your ass off to Tokyo or whatever, don’t blame me.” Dean huffed, and flicked the radio on. Sam just felt out along the strange connection he and Lucifer shared, and smiled in a stupid kind of rebellion as the archangel let him feel his wings again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Thank you all so much for so many comments and kudos on the first chapter!! You are all the best, and I'm really happy it's making y'all laugh ♥ Tell me what you think of this chapter if you like, and stay awesome my homies!  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	3. In Which Strip Poker Isn't As Much Of A Good Idea As Sam Thought

“You’re going to need a suit.” Sam looked down at the archangel, who appeared as Dean blazed off into the distance, probably with the Mission Impossible theme on loop in his head. He and Dean had pulled into a gas station (which seemed to sell hay as well as car fuel) and been skody enough to change in their bathroom. But hey, if the hunter life was anything, it was skody.  
“You know, this would all be so much easier if you just said yes to me, Sammy.” Lucifer sighed, but Sam had prepared for this very moment.  
“Look, I’m not going to say yes, and we’re stuck with each other, so we might as well make this work.” He laid it out nice and clear and braced for another push which never came. “So are you going to help or not?”  
“Better?” Lucifer clicked his fingers and Sam’s eyes and probably pupils widened as a neat, fitted black suit materialized over the Devil, with a pale blue tie that made his eyes pop like forget-me-nots in a meadow. Sam wondered for a moment, what Lucifer would say if he came out and said that, but common sense beat the lame-ass poetic shit back with a rake. 

Without his bag-like shirt, Sam noted that it was only Satan’s stance that made it look like he had more of a stomach, but he also noted the smirk on Lucifer’s lips as the silence of his blatant ogle stretched out. Not _ogle_ , come on Sam. It was just different.  
“Yep, that’s…that’s good.” He gave Satan a polite smile. Yeah, Lucifer was a dick, but they had to survive this situation somehow. “You got a badge and everything?”  
The archangel reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a thick leather badge. “Special Agent Jeffery Morningstar, FBI.”  
He winked, and Sam couldn’t quite get over just how bright those eyes were. They hadn’t talked about the sensation of flight they’d shared either. Maybe it had been one way? Maybe Lucifer didn’t know, but then again, it felt as though the archangel had _let_ him, and Sam had an avalanche of guilt boulders at the fact that he’d kinda known and he’d kinda enjoyed it. And when he said kinda, he meant very much, a lot, yes please. But the hunter shoved his wayward thoughts down and turned toward the Police Station.  
“Alright then. Time to get going.” 

 

“Glad you came, boys!” A middle-aged lady shot Sam a smile that was just a little bit too friendly and smoothed a hand around his elbow. Oh no. Another cougar. At least this one still had her hair colour. An officer clopped by outside the window on a police steed. In fact, everywhere Sam looked in this place there seemed to be horses, horse pictures or horse equipment.  
“You said you were here for the river case?” She guided Sam into the slab room and Lucifer sidled in behind them as he took in the ceiling, but the space didn’t seem small enough to cause the archangel discomfort.  
“Yes, that’s right ma’am.” Sam nodded and tried to prise his arm from her grip with little success. Then again, his biceps were probably the problem. You could use them things like handle bars.  
“Well, that’s just as well. A body just came in, but we haven’t had time for an autopsy yet…” She moved so close to him that he could smell her old lady shampoo. Mmm. Nothing like old lady shampoo in a morgue in the morning.  
“That’s ok, my partner is very skilled at dissecting bodies.” Sam could feel Lucifer’s eyebrow raise from here as he leaned as far back from this brick-to-the-face subtle come-on he was being subjected to as he could without doing the limbo. He’d just wait it out, like usual. In a simpler world, he’d just deck her and stow the body in a closet, but this wasn’t a simple world. Then Lucifer’s hand snapped on to her shoulder.  
“Ms. Kaley, did my partner say that you could touch him?” Lucifer’s eyes took on a slight serial killer stare and the forensics lady gulped and let go. “That’s what I thought. Now get out and let us do our job.”  
“L – Jeffery, really, it’s…Ms Kaley…” Sam started, but Ms Kaley pretty much did an Olympic sprint out the room as Lucifer’s shark-stare followed her. The younger Winchester sighed. “You didn’t have to do that, I’m kinda used to it.”  
“You were uncomfortable.” Lucifer said simply, and turned toward the array of tools on a tray. The Devil flicked a scalpel around in his hand like a spy might do with a butterfly knife. Sam wondered for a moment if Lucifer had had to practice that and how many times he’d stabbed himself in the process.  
“Then, ah, you can feel this weird thing too?” Sam pushed the nerves that rose in him back. This felt personal, the fact that they weren’t just physically connected, but somehow tied with emotions too. He hid his expression with convenient, long hair as he found the right slab to open.  
“You mean how you enjoyed my flight so much?” Humour teased in Lucifer’s voice, and heat crept up Sam’s neck. “Mmm, I could definitely feel that.”

He could sense the archangel move up behind him, but whatever was about to happen was machetied into fucking history when Sam wrenched the slab out to reveal one of the most weird-ass bodies Sam had ever seen. And Sam had seen some weird ass bodies.  
“What the…” The hunter pulled his head back in barely contained what the fuck.  
“Mmm, look at that handsome fella.” Lucifer prowled around the other side of the body. Yes, it looked like this dude had once been handsome. But now, bloated from a nice drowning with huge, swollen, bruised raise over half of his chest… and his stomach expanded to an almost comical roundness out by what looked like chunks of…something… His face was fixed in the most haunting smile Sam had seen since Plucky The Clown’s fucking Terror House for Children. On his shoulder, an angry bruise dappled out from red-encrusted teeth marks, but Sam had never seen a bite like it. The teeth looked carnivorous, but unless Horse People kept pumas for funsies too, it couldn’t be a carnivore of the sane world. Sam, unfortunately, lived in an insane world which had recently hit the jackpot for crazy.

“Onto the table then.” The blonde Devil clicked his fingers and Handsome Spanish Drowned Man appeared on the autopsy table. Was Satan, Prince of Darkness, really going to help him dissect a dude? It seemed…a little under his paygrade. But whatever. Sam helped himself to a forensic bib, mask and latex gloves.  
“So, you just wanna go for it, or…” Sam trailed off and gestured at their slab man. Lucifer flipped the scalpel around his fingers and sliced a perfect, quick Y shape into the dead man’s torso, right down to the shattered bone of his ribs and without breaking the lining of his bloated stomach. If Sam didn’t know better, although he really didn’t know better, he would have thought Satan was showing off.  
“Mmm, it’s more satisfying when they’re alive.” Lucifer’s wide-bowed lip curled. “Maybe I should – “  
“Dude, you are _not_ bringing a guy back to life just so you can alive-dissect him.” Sam raised a warning finger and looked around for a bone saw he could stab himself with if Satan misbehaved. He swore he heard Lucifer mutter ‘ruin all my fun’ or something like it, and then didn’t even ask for the bone saw Sam had retrieved, but snapped through the already-shattered ribs of the man’s chest with his bare fingers. They both peered in Satan’s hole…Sam revised that analogy in his head and restarted. They both peered in the hole Satan had made, and Sam drew his head back in confusion.  
“Now I’m no expert on humans – “ The was a juicy squelch as Lucifer ripped the man’s heart out. “But I have to say, this doesn’t look human.”  
“Yeah.” Sam swallowed and took the organ from his Satanic partner. It was huge – around the size of a heart-shaped rock melon. No wonder the thing had demolished most of Mr Beauty and Grace’s chest. “What the hell.”

He plopped it in a Tupperware container which had the label ‘Cookies’ crossed out and ‘Organs’ penned in Sharpie underneath.  
“Hmm.” His resident archangel turned to the man’s stomach, and Sam pulled up his face mask. He’d had enough experiences with dead body fluids to the face to last him a life time thank you very much. But it seemed Lucifer was far more skilled than that, and he parted Huge-Heart’s stomach lining without a hitch. For a moment, they both took a look at the meaty mush, then Satan’s eyes sharpened.  
“I think I found your missing children.” Lucifer lifted out a chunk, that now Sam looked at it more, resembled a small hand.  
“Oh Jesus.” Sam covered his mouth and took a breath. Satan just turned the mangled arm in his hand.  
“Nope, not Jesus, although the world might have been better if it had been.” Lucifer bared his teeth and tugged at a tendon that made the fingers twitch.  
“Lucifer, stop playing with the kid’s arm!” Sam ran his hand through his hair in frustration and turned away from the body. So they hadn’t been able to save the children and huge-heart-dead-dude had eaten them, then…died? In the background of Sam’s dilemma, Lucifer gently pulled out the man’s intestines. What the heck could have done this? He hadn’t seen any monster that fed, grew a huge heart, as ironic as that sounded, then died.

“Lucif – what the hell are you doing?” Sam tugged off his face mask and creased his eyebrows at the archangel, who looked like the cat who’d been caught with the mess of destroyed toilet paper, if just for a second. For _some weird reason_ he’d pulled Child-Eater’s intestines all the way out into a huge pile on the floor.  
“Why, Satan? Why?” Sam sighed, but didn’t really know what else to do.  
“Look at them Sam. Just like the heart.” Lucifer pointed at the packed guts. Even though they were stuffed with meat goo, they hadn’t exploded because…  
“Human small intestines are, what, 20 ft long?” Sam remembered from Biology long ago and crouched beside Satan’s gut pile. “These are what…100ft? No wonder he was…”  
“A fat pig?” Lucifer shrugged with zero chill, and earned a scowl.  
“Bloated, Lucifer.” Sam looked back over the guts. Now, he was no expert on how much volume of meat one minced child produced, but the Devil, possibly, might be. “How many kids do you think are in here?”  
“Two.” It seemed Sam’s intuition was correct, and he didn’t really want to think on how Lucifer knew. But four children had gone missing, so…  
“Hold on, I need to call Dean.” He turned away, then turned back. “Don’t do…anything weird with the dead guy, ok?”  
“Hey, necrophilia’s your neck of the woods, not mine.” Lucifer winked and Sam opened and closed his mouth for a second. “Ruby’s meatsuit wasn’t exactly alive Sam, although it does blur the lines a bit, doesn’t it?”

Great. _Now_ he thought of that. But Sam had had enough angst over Ruby, so after a moment’s pause he just pulled a ‘fair enough’ face, which Dean would have gasped and given him a spray for, but Lucifer just chuckled. It was so refreshing that Sam just about had a heart attack. Then again, his relationship with the traitor bitch had set Lucifer free, so he supposed the Devil had no reason to hate on him for it. So Sam left the internal dilemmas to another day and just speed-dialled his brother.  
“Dean?” He glanced sideways as Lucifer flicked a bloodied finger and the intestines folded themselves back into place. Oddly satisfying.  
“Yeah, what you got?” Dean’s voice growled through the phone. Sam passed on everything he and Lucifer had dug up.  
“Well, I ain’t ever heard of something like that. Look, I’ve interviewed some of the people at the riding school and have a few to go. Find a motel, text me the address, get some research done and I’ll meet up with you later.” Dean listed, and Sam almost felt as though he should respond with a ‘yes sir’.  
“Sure.” He hung up and turned back to the body. Maybe this case was already solved? Maybe the monster was here, dead in the morgue? But something deep in Sam’s hunter instincts felt off, so he peeled off his latex gloves and surgeon’s bib. Lucifer had already flicked their child-eating Spaniard into the freezer again, so it seemed they were all good to go.

 

It took ten motels, a lamp to the face and several frustrated apologies to managers before Satan finally flew Sam to a motel that would fit their paygrade.  
“ – Milan, Switzerland, Paris, New Zealand…” Lucifer trailed off and Sam felt that odd apprehensiveness as the Devil took in the smallish room. He almost wanted to ask whether Lucifer had some kind of angelic claustrophobia, but didn’t quite feel like they’d come to the part in their relationship where they discussed each other’s deep and personal feelings.  
“Look, here is fine.” Sam tossed his laptop bag on the window side table and shrugged off his suit jacket. It was warm for Fall, but that was probably because _someone_ had started melting the ice caps for their Apocalypse. “I need to do some research, so just…I don’t know, do something to entertain yourself.”

Lucifer was back in his usual getup, and Sam kinda mourned the loss of the suit, even though he kinda shouldn’t. Satan’s eyes still looked like forget-me-nots in a warm, grassy field, his inner poetic shit nerd piped up, but Sam took the dweeb by the scruff of the neck and tossed him out his metaphysical brain window.  
“Fine.” Lucifer sighed and vanished. Sam frowned for a moment. What could Lucifer possibly find in a fifteen metre or so radius that would even attempt to fill his giant, semi-omnipresent consciousness? But as the hunter opened his laptop, he felt a little stab of happiness, so the Devil must have found something. Unfortunately, a strange, mystical, nay Satanic power stopped Sam from hearing the screams from the lovely couple next door.

 

A few hours later, Sam sighed and looked over his notes. Dean still hadn’t come back, but had answered his text about the motel room, so his brother probably wasn’t face down in a river somewhere being devoured by a handsome man. Lucifer seemed content wherever he was, and Sam had a feeling he knew what they were up against. Both the heart size and the intestine size matched that of a horse, it ate children, dwelt by a river, and unless this horse-crazy town had started to literally turn people into equine hybrids (that was Plan B)…  
Sam thought they only lived in Scotland, but it seemed with the Apocalypse up and about, all sorts of weird things had started to pop up.  
“I’m bored.” Speaking of popping up, His Satanic Majesty appeared across from Sam with a sigh. “C’mon, let’s do something. The case is easy enough, you’ll figure it out.”  
“Wait what?” Sam raised his eyebrows in frustration. “You know what this is?”  
“Of course I know what it is, Sammy, but it’d be no fun telling you now would it.” Lucifer gave a perky little smile and conjured some cards. “Poker?”  
“No fun? Lucifer…” Sam threw up his hands as he realized who he was talking to and the moral appeal would really not work. He snapped his laptop closed – he needed a break anyway. “Fine.”  
“How about, if I win, you say – “  
“No.” Sam rattled out with a bored stare.  
Lucifer just shrugged. “It was worth a try. Strip poker then?”  
Sam pulled his head back with a disturbed look. “Dude, I do not want to see you naked.”  
“Oh you really think _I’m_ the one who’s gonna be losing their clothes?” Satan raised his eyebrows and dealt the cards, which Sam gathered up.  
“We’ll see about that.” He studied his hand. He’d beaten a 900 year-old witch poker expert at his own game, so why not give it a shot against The Devil?

 

Dean hefted the plastic bag packed with beer, dinner and snacks out of the Impala and groaned as his legs ached. Shouldn’t Sammy, the desert-camping tramper be the one hauling ass up and down some river and coming up with bupkis? At least the health nut would still have ‘gotten something out of it’. He’d already picked up the horse-themed key from the front desk, so he slotted it into the lock and pushed the door open.  
“Sam, I’m – “ Dean just about dropped the shopping. A very disgruntled, very mostly naked Sam sat at one end of the window side table, a pile of clothes minus only his underwear beside him. Across the table, a smug Lucifer only seemed to have a set of neat shoes and socks lined up. Lucifer sighed and looked up at Dean. Dean stared at them both. Sam glowered at his terrible hand. Seemed like he’d come in the nick of time.  
“What the heck, Sam?!” He finally spat out. Since when had ‘getting naked with the Devil’ been on his brother’s agenda?  
“He cheats.” Sam muttered.  
“I’m offended!” Lucifer huffed and considered Sam with wide, innocent eyes. “Just bad luck on your part.”  
“You can probably swing luck whatever way you like, Lucifer.” Sam folded his cards and it kinda got Dean’s hackles up just how casual the exchange between these two was.  
“Hey, you could have stopped any time you liked, Sam.” The archangel pointed at his brother, who pulled a magnificent bitch-face, then Satan stacked the cards into non-existence.  
“Weren’t you meant to be doing research?” Dean snapped and tried to pull the situation away from _Sam stripping for the Devil._ Those bare, muscular shoulder shrugged, and Dean tried to repress the violence that swarmed through him at Satan’s smirk while he watched Sam pull his jeans back on. Luckily Dean was the master of repression. Although perhaps he should give Sam some sort of…Satanic sex talk.

“I think it’s a kelpie, although some things don’t fit.” Sam hauled his shirt on again.  
“Kelpie? Like the breed of dog?” Dean raised an eyebrow and tried to ignore Lucifer’s snort of ‘idiot’ in the background.  
“It’s a water horse, Dean.” Sam shot his Satanic companion a withering stare and turned back to Dean.  
“Oh great more horses. I mean I’m cool with them, but this town is, like _infested_.” Dean had been almost trodden on twice today, not to mention the endless dung.  
Sam just continued his mythological nerd fest. “They entice children by offering them rides. Once on the horse, the rider sticks like a fly on flypaper and then the kelpie drags them into the river or lake to eat them. It was an old Scottish myth to warn of the dangers of drowning but – “  
“Ok, ok, I get it, David Attenborough.” Dean interrupted and popped open a beer. Sam sighed and took the other one he proffered. “But if it is a kelpie, then what is a human dude doing up in a morgue slab with a horse’s heart and guts?”  
“Apparently, they are shape-shifters.” Sam picked up his notes, and Dean looked about for the Devil, but only found his own daddy issues.  
“Hey, where’d – “  
“Oh, he probably got bored.” Sam waved a hand as if Satan flicking in and out of their motel room was the most natural thing in the world. “Anyway, some myths say their true form is a huge black horse with seaweed for a mane, green eyes and backwards hooves. Here it says they can transform into a handsome male or beautiful female, who sometimes keep the hooves, but Horse-Heart back there had regular human feet and...maybe he was halfway through a transformation when he died? That would explain the organs, but that wouldn’t explain how he died.”

The Devil reappeared, as though he hadn’t just popped out for a split second, and his expression caught Dean’s eye; Lucifer had his eyes on Sammy as though he were Satan’s intelligent student working through a math problem or something. Damn creepy if you asked him.  
“But if it’s already in the morgue…” Dean turned his gaze away from lecherous professor Lucifer over there and took a swig of beer. “Maybe it’s already dead. Maybe another hunter got here first.”  
“Well there were no wounds or anything…” Sam glanced back at Lucifer, who nodded in a creepy encouraging-professor-like way. “From what I’ve read, I think it should be killed by silver through the heart, but there was no trace on the body.”  
“You think or you know?” Dean pressed; if Sam had been distracted by Lucifer, he kinda wanted him to feel bad about it. “Or has blondie over there been distracting you from your research?”  
“Why don’t you give Sam a break, Dean?” Lucifer stood and paced over to where they stood, arms crossed. It pissed Dean off that the poor sap Satan possessed was taller than him. Well, everything about the Devil pissed him off. “Seriously, he has been working his ass off all day. I should know.”  
Sam’s shoulders dropped in frustration and he turned to Satan. “Lucif – “  
“How about you stop telling me how to look after my brother, since you’re just a creepy angel who wants to groom him into being your vessel.” Dean spat and smacked his beer on the stone counter with a clang.  
“Mmm, temper, temper.” Lucifer lilted, eyes as cold as a witch’s tit. “Would it hurt for you just to say thank you to Sam for once in your wretched little life?”  
“Guys!” Sam yelled and held up his hands between their glare fest. He turned to Lucifer as Dean wrestled with strangulation-themed thoughts. “Look, can you just give me and Dean a moment please?”  
“Fine. I was getting bored anyway, what with Dean being so slow and all.” Satan shrugged and vanished off to inflict some boredom-fuelled pain on their other neighbour.

“Look, Dean, I know the situation is stupid, but I’m just trying to make it work, ok?” Sam ran a giant man paw through his hippy-ass hair and his jaw tightened in frustration.  
“How is playing _strip poker_ with the Devil ‘making it work’?” Dean growled and anger-slurped more beer. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you wanted to frickin kill yourself to take him down?”  
“Look, I just got carried away.” Sam sighed. How did a very straight man get carried away so much that they did a consensual strip tease for Satan? Dean, as a very bad example of a very straight man, thought. “And you’ve made it crystal clear that I’m not allowed to go with that plan, so I have to do _something_.”  
“Ignore him?” Dean offered with a side of glare.  
“I can’t do that, Dean. I’d rather keep him in check rather than having him re-animate a dead dude just to have more fun dissecting him or whatever.” Sam sighed, and didn’t know how right he was, as, next door, Satan picked up a power drill and revved it with a disturbed gleam in his eye.  
“He did _what?_ ”  
“He didn’t Dean, that’s the point, because I told him – well, threatened him – not to!” Sam caught him with an exasperated look and threw his hands up. “I know you two don’t get along, and I’ll speak to him later too, but…”  
Sam shot him the best puppy-dog eyes Dean had seen for a while. “Let’s just try and get this case done, ok, then we can look for a way to remove this thing.”

Despite everything, Dean had to admit Sam had some sort of logic there. “Ok, but if I see you stripping for Satan again- “  
“Dean, I wasn’t…” Sam slammed on the bitchface so hard that Dean felt a blood vessel pop. Then he grabbed his dinner from Dean’s bag. “I’m gonna eat, then sleep. Can we try not to talk about Lucifer for the rest of the evening?”  
“Whatever.” The older Winchester shrugged and snagged his own burger. To be honest, it wasn’t all Lucifer he was worried about. Sam had a penchant for going after freaks to fuck, and now big daddy freak was in the building, well who knew? Dean shook his head. No, Sam didn’t bat for that team. Unless Lucifer turned into some kind of sexy lady, there was no chance his brother would tap that. Was there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I'm having too much fun with this. They're all trashlords and they give me life. Updating this fic is one of the things I look forward to most in the week :P As always, I would love to hear what you think (seriously, you guys' comments get me up in the morning) and thanks to everybody who has already left kudos and comments! You're all amazing ♡´･ᴗ･`♡  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	4. In Which Dean Is Molested By Geese And Nothing Good Comes Of Riding Something Big And Black

“Mmm, babe, what’s that over there?” Cleo staggered against her boyfriend’s shoulder as their poor life decisions to walk home in the dark, drunk caught up with them. Derek squinted into the gloom, then gave a deranged cry.  
“Horse! Horsie horse!” He stumbled off toward the park as Cleo made her way after him with a shrill laugh. Their town was, like, America’s horse central. Everyone loved horses. But Derek? Sometimes she felt horses threatened their relationship, especially when she found suggestive horse-genitalia research on their Google history.  
“Derekkkk, come back!” She giggled, then tripped on the boundary chain and fell flat on her face. That was like Derek – leave his girlfriend to die in a bark-chip puddle while he tried to lick a horse kind of guy. Cleo’s pain receptors seemed down and out from the booze, so with a merry little hiccough, she climbed to her feet and staggered after the horse-loving bastard that was her boyfriend.  
“Derek, where are you silly?” Cleo caught herself on a tree and peered around it. Water rushed somewhere in her sphere of hearing and Grandma Obo’s warning about rivers and alcohol came back, blurred and slurred, but it was pushed away by the sight before her.  
A huge black Fresian stood, proud and tall in the night, flowers twisted into the undulations of its luxurious sable mane. Derek barely came up to its shoulder, but he gazed up with unhealthily love-struck eyes as he ran a hand over its glossy fur.  
“Derek?” Cleo called, and the beast suddenly turned. Its eyes burned a Disney-villain green and adrenaline shot through her blood. “Derek!”  
She stumbled forward, but her dumbass boyfriend had already sank his fingers into its mane and somehow pulled himself up on to its back. He couldn’t even do a chin-up, and now he was Legolas-swinging onto horses? In her drunken haze, Cleo managed to grab on to his shoe and give an almighty heave…Derek didn’t budge and inch, but his shoe ripped off in her hand as the Fresian reared with a ferocious neigh, then barrelled off into the night. With the Riding School so close, Cleo expected a replying whinny or something, but the night was as dead as Derek was about to be.  
“Derek…” She stumbled in the direction the horse had bolted, but drink clouded her head and a branch thudded against her skull. The last thing Cleo heard was a sploosh reminiscent of Grandma Obo’s belly-flops, and then the world faded out.

 

It was 4am and Lucifer dropped back into the Winchester Grunge Suite after cleaning up from the literal bloodbath he’d had next door. Old man Joe or whatever his name was wouldn’t remember a thing, just to keep Sam happy, but at least it’d kept Satan entertained for a while.  
Sam’s company was better than expected, and in a way, it was nice to feel how relaxed the tall human had become around him. But Dean made Lucifer want to stab himself in the eyeball with a sharpened chilli. If it came to it, it would ease the pain of smashing his own beloved brother into pulp if Michael wore Dean’s stupid face. 

Lucifer peered down at the not-so-stupid face of Sam Winchester beside his hip. Hey, he was the King of Hell, no shite motel chair for him. Shite motel bed was one step up, and since Sam was so adamant they stayed in Mould Central, he’d have to put up with where Lucifer wanted to situate himself. The archangel looked up at the ceiling and close walls and shuffled his wings on their separate plane with a smidge of discomfort. It wasn’t that he was afraid of small spaces, it was just that he’d been in the confinement of The Cage for so long that it felt better than anything to be somewhere open. Lucifer tipped his head back against the wall, then glanced back down at the side of Sam’s face that wasn’t smooshed into the pillow. Their connection seemed to go beyond physical transference, and it was beyond even Lucifer what kind of power could have done this, could have made an archangel of his strength so vulnerable. Although, Sam sharing his wings had been fun. A little taste of what it’d be like for Sam as his vessel. Not some tool or suit to be used and maimed; but a comrade in experiences.

He reached over, laid a hand on Sam’s forehead and felt out for the connection they shared. The tall human gave a little hum, a shiver and then flopped over. Octopus arms of the century wrapped around Lucifer’s waist as Sam promptly buried his face in Lucifer’s crotch with a happy grumble. The Lord of Sin stared for a second, shrugged, closed his eyes again and then got back to his task, hand on Sam’s hair instead. Perhaps if he figured out the root of their connection, he could pick at the binds and unstick them.

 

It was warm. Sam didn’t remember the bed being so warm last night – in fact he’d kept his shirt on as Fall temperature well and truly kicked in. Plus he didn’t want to wake up in Timbuktu or wherever Satan’s whim took him only in small black shorts.  
“Mm.” Sam huffed and nuzzled against the warmth in his arms, the warmth against his legs. The solidness of whatever it was turned Sam’s half-hearted morning wood into a full, frustrated erection and he thought for a moment about relieving it…but if he was awake, Dean would probably be not far behind, never mind the fact he’d be practically encouraging Satanic voyeurism. In his fuzzy mind, Sam considered whether he actually cared, and snuggled into his pillow with frustration. Except his pillow was made of denim. And what had been soft now was an odd kind of hard. 

Sam’s eyes flew open and he froze. With the eye that wasn’t pressed into what he kinda figured was Satan’s firm dick, he caught a glimpse of his own arms wrapped around a thick-muscled waist. Even though Lucifer was on top of the bed rather than in it, Sam’s leg had dragged the sheets up and over the archangel’s knees, and he registered a hand in his hair. The hunter scowled at the way his dick leaked at the still-half-conscious hope that Lucifer might clench those fingers and drag his head back, and tried to think of a way to somehow remove himself from this situation without a) waking Dean and b) waking Lucifer. If Lucifer was asleep. If Lucifer could sleep.  
“I didn’t do this if you’re wondering.” Lucifer muttered without opening his eyes and Sam slumped as that hope failed him. Goddamn everything.  
“Oh, some of this is you.” Sam yanked his arms and leg back to his meagre side of the bed, and hoped the Devil hadn’t felt his own contribution to this awkward morning. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s ferocious core strength he probably would have flopped onto the floor like a fish out of water. He thanked his abs for his retained dignity.  
“I can’t help how my vessel responds when you repeatedly rub your face into my – “  
“Get the hell away from my brother.” There was a click of a gun as Dean shot upright and growled.  
“Oh, shoot me Rapunzel, Sam won’t thank you.” Satan rolled his eyes and removed his hand from Sam’s hair. It had been so gentle that Sam realized he could have pulled himself away at the first opportunity, and clenched his jaw in chagrin as he wrenched away from Lucifer’s lap.  
“What the hell were you doing on my bed anyway?” He huffed with anger – at himself for the stupid predicament, at Lucifer, he didn’t know.  
“I was trying to figure out our little condition.” Lucifer crossed his arms and shot him a slow, heavy-lidded glance. “I can’t help it if you’re a hugger.”  
“You’re a perverted freak, that’s what you are, and so help me, when you’re… _unglued_ from Sam, I am gonna get me some Holy Oil and deep fry you to Hell.” Dean snarled, threw down the gun as Lucifer gave an amused snicker. The older Winchester glared over at Sam. “How are you not freaked out by this?”

Sam wasn’t sure why he wasn’t freaked out by this. True, he’d woken up face-first on Lucifer’s dick, but as far as waking up on Satanic genitals went, it probably hadn’t been as much of a bad experience as it could have been. Lucky for him, Sam was saved from explaining his dick-to-face nonchalance by the chime of his phone.  
“Hill, FBI.” He snatched it up and wondered if it ever crossed the wildest imaginings of the detective on the other end that they spoke to a vessel bred by angels for the Devil Himself, and said vessel had just woken up from snuggling Satan and also had a pissed off Michael Sword to deal with.  
“Good morning.” The officer sounded on edge, but she ploughed through. “ Alright, you’re never going to believe this, but the body you autopsied yesterday is gone.”  
“Gone?” Sam motioned at Dean to get dressed. “What do you mean, gone? Removed?”  
“No…” The officer struggled. “In all honesty, as crazy as it sounds, it looks as though Mr Santiago broke _out_ of the forensics room.”  
Sam side-eyed corpse-happy Lucifer, who shook his head.  
“We also have an eyewitness account of what we think is a related attack, but the young lady was inebriated and took a blow to the head and her information seems – “  
“Just hold her there, please. We’re on our way.” Sam ended the call and noted the Devil hadn’t stuck around for the brief, although he couldn’t have gone far. From what he’d said last night, he already knew everything anyway. “So the body we cut up yesterday has gone walkabouts, and it sounds like there was another attack at the river.”  
“So what, I scour the river again, while you play good cop/Satanic cop?” Dean grumbled and pulled on his jeans.  
“Ya, Dean. It’ll do you some good after all those burgers.” He shot his brother a smug look and Dean squeaked in protest about being in perfect condition. 

To be honest, in the dangerous place Sam never wanted to acknowledge, he kinda looked forward to being alone with Lucifer again. It didn’t feel like Ruby, where she’d controlled him, baited him on, hooked him on a kind of addiction to her, where everything had felt clandestine and grey. No, he knew where he stood with Lucifer. Yes would never be on the cards, and he knew Satan was by all rights a bastard. They were just situationally obliged to co-operate. And right now that evil, malicious shadow that lurked in Biblical myth didn’t really describe the blonde archangel who’d handed him his ass at poker, so it made it a little easier to deal. 

Sam pulled his suit out the cramped closet, smoothed out a stray crease and wondered whether Lucifer would have that blue tie that made his eyes pop today. Seriously? Again, Sam? Has one little colour choice really got you this caught up? He glanced over at Dean as he slid into the neat white shirt. What would his brother say if he knew about his Satanic eye obsession? Terrible, terrible things, he had no doubt.  
“You still taking the traditional mode of transport?” Dean tugged his laces and Sam waited to see if Lucifer popped in to offer a ride. It seemed he wanted to fly over them again. Sam smiled to himself, and agreed wholeheartedly to the archangel’s decision.

***

“So it was dark, and I was drunk and the demon-horse thing must have been my imagination.” The eyewitness Cleo rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead. Lucifer had taken a look at the tiny interview space and made some excuse about ‘not wanting to listen to a human whine on about things he already knew’. From the odd heat and tickle of a breeze in the ghost of Lucifer’s wings, yep, the archangel was on the roof.  
“Demon horse?” Sam put on his best ‘crazy is good’ face and laced his hands in front of him.  
“Ok, so Derek – that’s my – was my – boyfriend – loves horses, and with the Annual Fall Horse Show today, we went to have a little pre-show chat with our mates. Had some drinks, and home isn’t that far away, so we walked.” She picked at her horse t-shirt (seriously, these people had a problem) and recounted the sight of (how convenient) a big black horse with murderous green eyes that had whisked her very worrisomely inclined boyfriend away for a midnight dip of death. 

Then again, Sam wasn’t one to talk about inclinations when he still didn’t seem phased about his Satanic cock cushion. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was the fact that pretty much anything was better than a pillow that was well on its way to becoming a life form of its own.  
“Have you seen this horse around before?” Sam broke out his internal dilemma and queried.  
“I think I would have noticed a giant black Fresian with glowstick eyes, thank you very much.” Cleo huffed. “Or Derek would’ve. I wouldn’t have heard the last of it. He loves big, black – “  
Sam would forever be glad that sentence was never finished as his phone rang.  
“Agent Hill, FBI.” He knew it was Dean, but they had to keep the pretence.  
“Yeah, so I definitely found Derek.” From the sound of Dean’s voice, Derek was not a happy bunny. “Or what’s left of him.”  
Bingo.  
“Excuse me.” Sam motioned an apology at the young lady who probably didn’t want to hear how many parts her boyfriend was now in and left the interview room. “What do you mean?”  
“I took a look further up the river, and I found a series of caves, but get this – I didn’t just find a human meat pile, but also two different sizes of hoof prints and a heap of branches and shit that look like a nest.” Dean sighed from too little burger and too much nature.  
“Which means – “  
“We might have three kelpies on our hands soon.” Dean interrupted in exasperation. “And that still doesn’t explain why one of them was letting you play Operation on them in the morgue!”

“Ever wonder how a kelpie gets a mate?” Lucifer popped up behind Sam with such suddenness that he jumped and juggled his phone like a white person in an infomercial. But thankfully, although he was a white person, this was no infomercial and he didn’t throw it at his own head, knock himself out and explode the battery in his face or whatever.  
“Sam, you ok?” Dean probably heard what sounded like a small gasp then gratuitous flailing, and that often meant someone had tried to fell the redwood of his brother with a rugby tackle.  
“Yeah, Lucifer has something to say, that’s all.” Sam recovered from his small jump and turned to Satan with a weary expression. “What?”  
  
The Devil had a crimson tie on today, and it was even worse than the last one. True, the eggshell blue had made Sam’s brain go to Sapsville Central, but red looked good on blondes. Hell, did red look good on blondes, and Sam had had to consider whether his dick dilemma and tie dilemmas were somehow _tied_ in. Sam laughed in his head at his own pun, breezed over the insecurity with humour and waited for an answer.  
“Ok, I’ll give you a clue.” Lucifer placed his finger bang on Sam’s nipple with mystical accuracy. He didn’t really feel adverse to it. His nipple didn’t really feel adverse to it. Ms Kaley from forensics stared at the nipple-touch with jealousy, but neither Lucifer, Sam or Sam’s nipple cared about Ms Kaley from forensics. “What also is allergic to silver, kinda has a problematic animal form and likes to devour human parts?”  
“A werewolf. Oh. The bite.” Sam ran his hand through his hair in frustration, and Lucifer shot him a perky little smile as he removed his finger from Sam’s now-perky nipple.  
“Very good, Sammy. And _maybe_ newly bitten kelpies have a cooling time during when they pass out after their first feed giving - ”  
“The police time to bag and tag.” Sam sighed and really tried not to acknowledge how he felt kinda warm under Satan’s praise. But also, Lucifer could have saved Derek by just telling them this from the start. Then again, he _was_ Lucifer. Seriously Sam, what did you expect?  
  
“Well if they bite people _and_ have babies, why aren’t there hundreds running around like werewolves?” Dean’s disgruntled tone came over the phone as he very clearly heard his brother finish Satan’s sentence for him.  
“Well, maybe not here, but they’re native to Scotland, right?” Sam shrugged, although he always felt sorry for Australian hunters. Their country was in an eternal state of demonic-omen floods and fires, but now that the Apocalypse was on, Sam supposed they wouldn’t notice the difference. “Maybe, they’re like, the werewolves of Scotland?”  
“Well whatever, it looks like they’re stocking up.” Dean’s voice suddenly dropped to a hushed tone.  
Had a demonic, black horse arisen from the water? Was Dean in danger of being dragged to the murky depths? Was Sam going to have to listen to hours of mullet rock music to decide what Dean would like played at his funeral? The horror. “Dude how do you deal with geese?”  
“What?” Sam snorted and looked at Lucifer as though he was somehow the one responsible for the geese. He might be the one responsible for geese. Who knew? Though, given their temperament, it was quite likely geese were the creation of Satan.  
“Like, a huge flock of geese were not here when I came, and now are blocking, like, the entire riverbank.” A soft hiss came through the phone and Sam hadn’t heard Dean this stressed since Hellhounds.  
“Dude, they’re just birds.” He smirked shit and Lucifer raised his eyebrows with a smile. “C’mon, you’ve taken on vampires, werewolves and God knows what else. I’m going to the Annual Fall Horse Show with Lucifer; if I was a kelpie, I’d go there to stock up. Meet me there and be careful – I hear they can smell fear.”

He ended the call as Dean sputtered out a helpless _Sammy!_ Not for nothing, but after harassing Sam so much to be apologetic without end, not to mention the shit Dean had given him about clowns when they’d investigated that creepy-ass circus, it put him in a good mood to leave his brother be molested by geese.  
“Shall we?” He tucked his phone away and flicked his eyes back to Lucifer. The archangel offered his arm with a wry smile.  
“It’d be a pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I may have made up a bit of kelpie mythology, but who’s to say everybody who’s done research on kelpies has all their biological habits down to the tee? Apart from semi-omnipresent Satan of course n.n. Thank you so much to everybody who has left kudos and comments on my fic (wow so many already!) and I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter! Your comments make my day so much you wouldn't believe =^.^=  
> Stay awesome my bros :3  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	5. In Which Sam Joins the Riding Community And Lucifer Gets Pimpslapped

If Sam had thought this town had been horse-crazy before, it didn’t hold a candle to what the Annual Fall Horse Show brought to the party. First of all, the horses. There must have been hundreds, from every state around here – black, white, grey, gold, even some with shaved patterns in their fur. Kids rode around on Shetlands while huge Clydesdales towered beside old-style carts and ploughs. How they were going to spot a black Fresian (and the right one at that) in this mosh pit of horses, Sam had no idea. If he knew what a black Fresian looked like, that might help too. 

Sam sighed. Dean was kinda right in the way that Lucifer distracted him; with his tie (which Sam noted with a sad tinge, that he’d changed out of again), with his less-than-moral antics, with his easy company, and the little things he never expected his Dark Satanic Lord to do, like, for example, get candyfloss.  
“I dunno what it is about this stuff, Sam, but it really hits the spot.” Lucifer examined the sugar wisps with a frown, and Sam rolled his eyes.  
“You’re about as bad as Gabriel.” Perhapsall angels were some kind of sugar addicts, deep down. Maybe he should try sneaking M&M’s into Castiel’s mouth while the angel lost himself in Dean’s languid green eyes. It might cheer the poor little guy up.  
“You’ve seen Gabriel?” Lucifer looked up with interest, and Sam bit his tongue for a second. Had Gabriel wanted his existence known? Then again the prankster archangel had lost all confidentiality rights when he’d subjected Sam to both genital herpes confessions and the unholy Nutcracker. Sam still had nightmares about that one.  
“More like got subjected to his House of TV Horror, but yeah. Don’t worry, he’s holding the torch for the Apocalypse too.” Sam sighed and helped himself to a piece of Satan’s impending sugar high.  
“Hm. I haven’t seen him since before…” Lucifer trailed off and Sam looked over to his Satanic buddy. He felt as though the Devil’s mood had suddenly dropped, and was caught in a moral bind. Did he comfort him? Did he say ‘hell yeah, you feel that pain’?

His dilemma was interrupted by the sight of a big black steed surrounded by an excited gaggle of parents and loaded with about eight children.  
“Hey, does that look like a Fresian to you?” Sam ducked to Lucifer’s eye-level and pointed toward the scene.  
“Maybe,” Lucifer munched on more candyfloss, and his mood evened out again. “But I never forget a set of intestines, and I know I removed his.”  
Sam followed the line of the Devil’s eyes and saw the guy on the end of Black Beauty’s tether. It was their handsome Spanish friend from the slab, all pretty and not-drowned again.  
“C’mon, let’s get closer.” Despite having a slight distraction problem, Sam hadn’t come unprepared; a silver knife and silver bullets were all at the ready, but he’d be torn apart by foaming horse-lovers if he shot a kiddie-ride in plain sight, not to mention its ‘owner’ who had soccer moms _and_ dads all over him.  
“Have you got room for one more?” A bright mother with glasses asked. “Ella has epilepsy, so I’d have to come with you but…”  
“For you, senorita…” The flirty killer horse shapeshifter purred, and helped her lift a little girl up on to the Fresian’s broad back. How the parents hadn’t noticed that this horse had somehow fitted nine children on its back, was beyond Sam. Then again, from the flash of those white teeth and that Spanish charm, it wasn’t so hard to believe.  
“Why does it go after kids? Wouldn’t adults be better meals?” Sam muttered to Lucifer as he waited for the ride to start. As far as he knew, kelpies liked to drown their victims rather than kill them themselves, so they’d have to head toward the river sometime. And last Sam checked, the river was maybe a fifteen minute walk, too far for a kiddie ride. They’d have to cut and run sometime.  
“Easier to trick. And they taste better.” Lucifer shrugged and tossed the candyfloss stick into the trash. Well, he may murder children, but at least Satan didn’t litter.  
Sam shot him a disgusted look. “Seriously? You eat kids?”  
“Ew no, they’re human. I don’t eat junk food.” Lucifer licked his sugared fingers with a tongue that split into a fork mid-lick and Sam huffed at just how inappropriate Satan made one simple act. He tried not to think how that would have looked paired with the red tie. Stop it Sam. “Lilith used to go on about it all the time though.”  
He caught Sam’s raised eyebrows and put his forked tongue away. “What? I know it’s terrible, but you gotta keep the troops happy.”  
Sam just sighed, then caught sight of Dean through the crowds and waved. He’d survived the geese then.  
His older brother shot both him and Satan a mutinous look as he joined them. “I never want to see a river or a goose ever again. Next time, you’re doing the tramping.”

It was at that moment the huge child-laden Fresian gave a wild neigh, bucked the rope out of its partner’s hand and charged toward the fence line. Ella’s mother, who seemed to have been stuck to its flank, was dragged the first couple of metres, then did an acrobatic leap worthy of the Olympics and vaulted up behind the children.  
“It’s headed for the river, Dean!” Sam growled, pushed his brother back toward where he’d come, and noted that any Satanic help he might be getting had vanished. But Sam hadn’t got a place at Stanford for nothing, and a crazy plan burst into his head. “Get the Impala and track my GPS. I’m going after it.”  
“How?” His brother looked at Sam’s legs as though he thought the tall dude might Usain Bolt after the demon horse.  
“How do you think?” Sam gestured at the myriad of horses behind him as the parents of the kelpie-snack children screamed in panic. Looked like the kelpie husband had vanished too. 

Before Dean had a chance to argue, Sam ripped his FBI badge out of his suit jacket, tossed said jacket on the ground and leapt over to the nearest saddled horse.  
“Agent Hill, FBI. I am requisitioning this horse in the name of the law. Any expenses will be seen to by the Government of the United States.”  
Before the owner even managed to splutter out a protest, Sam vaulted up on to the chestnut gelding, gave a pretty heroic ‘hyah’ (in his opinion) and kicked it into gear. The horse gave an excited whinny and streaked towards the fence. It was at that moment, Sam realized he’d never jumped a horse before. He’d never ridden a horse before, apart from the brief improvised vehicle sessions their father had given them. John had spared no quarter with the improvised vehicle sessions, but may have overstepped the line when he’d strapped Dean on a goat, not to mention the hillside wheelie bins. Sam thought he still had the scars. 

Sam pushed away old wheelie bin trauma and called up the old advice instead: toes to Heaven, heels to Hell, lift before the horse does. And then his stomach lurched, they whooshed up into the air and he thudded back into the saddle intact. Wow. Ok, that was fun. But Sam had no time to grin from elation or respond to the applause and soccer-mom wolf-whistles that followed him because Chestnut, as Sam now called him, had seen the fields and wanted freedom. He caught the reigns and directed the furred engine of speed and muscle toward the black lump on the other side of the field. Looked like they had a few more jumps to go, but Sam was pumped as fuck.  
“C’mon boy, I trust you, you trust me, let’s nail this bastard.” He squeezed his heels a little harder, and Chestnut flew across the grass like he’d been born to race. Perhaps he had been. Perhaps Sam had just stolen a prize racing horse. But he’d done it for the sake of the children, so nobody could really blame him, could they?  
He leaned forward in the saddle as they took the next fence. There was no way he could get a clean shot at the kelpie’s heart with the children and the unfamiliar movement of Chestnut beneath him, so he guessed this would be a battle in the river. Sam sighed. At least it was a nice day for a dunking.

Then the thud of another set of hooves thundered behind him, and Sam looked back, gun in hand, as thoughts of the kelpie’s mate did a speed run across his mind. But instead of a black Fresian, there was Lucifer, bareback on great white charger. He shot Sam a roguish grin as they drew level, and Sam had to admit, at this moment, that he was glad the archangel hadn’t just zapped them to wherever the kelpie’s port of call was. This was too much fun.  
“Race ya, kiddo!” Lucifer called, and Sam grinned back despite himself. Last time he’d taken the Devil’s challenge, he _had_ wound up mostly naked, but this time they hadn’t bet anything. Just some good natured competition.  
“Oh, you’re on. Hya!” He urged Chestnut faster and the horse streaked after the kelpie as though it knew it had the Devil on its heels.

In a minute or two, when they’d just close got enough to catch the rotten-river smell the kelpie gave off, Chestnut gave a huff of breath and skittered to a halt with such suddenness that only the most experienced rider would have stayed on. Sam, having joined the riding community less than four minutes ago, was tossed clean over the fence, but his hunter training hadn’t been in vain. In the split second most people would have thought ‘oh shit’ Sam angled his body into a perfect break roll and did not die. His back screamed in protest of the sudden change, and the hunter sucked in a breath as he staggered to his feet, a little disorientated. Chestnut’s eyes rolled white with terror and Sam’s mount backed off from the fence line. Well now was a great time to discover that horses had a morbid fear of kelpies. Then a shadow blotted out the sun.  
“Need a hand, cowboy?” Lucifer smirked down at him and proffered an arm. Sam didn’t have time to ask why the Devil would help him save people, so he took the hand and climbed up behind the archangel. There was no saddle or anything to hang on to on this presumably Satanic steed, so Sam grimaced and wrapped his arms around Lucifer’s waist. The warm, firm sensation of the other man’s body from this morning flooded back, and Sam swallowed as heat crept down to his treacherous cock. The Devil’s body felt so _right_ beneath his hands, like they were meant to be this close, like his body ached to melt against Lucifer’s. Even the archangel’s scent, of pine smoke and that clean frosted breath of a winter’s morning spun his head, got under his skin and it took a huge push of will not to pull Lucifer closer. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t _him_. He liked women, he’d always liked women, but then again, the situation of a male lover had never presented itself, and he’d never really…No, Sam, this wasn’t some curious fling with a male lover, this was the _literal Devil_ you idiot!

But before Sam could experience any more of his bisexual Satanic crisis, the magnificent white horse gave a huff, then barrelled down the tree-strewn slope toward the river. There was a splash, and the screams of both nine children and one fully grown woman reached Sam’s ears. It was probably Lucifer’s theme song, but if Satan stopped him saving lives, he’d find himself strangled by riding tack, no matter how many semis he inflicted on Sam with his fucking aura of temptation or whatever. The white steed slowed to a trot as it neared the hole the kelpie had torn in the undergrowth and Sam let go of Lucifer’s waist with a rush of relief. He slid down the horse’s flank and sprinted toward the dark tide before him. The hunter was just in time to see Ella’s mother’s wide-eyed face sink beneath the water so Sam braced himself for the bitter cold and dived in after the thing.

Ice stabbed into his skin, and Sam’s senses jolted from the shock for a moment. Bubbles whirled around him, and the sun beamed in greenish rays through the surface to reveal the kelpie’s true nature. Gone was the well-groomed Fresian. Riverweed sprouted from its neck where a mane should have been; it’s hooves had turned backwards and split into two sharp prongs, and huge, wolfish canines glinted white under its curled lip as it took Sam in with a luminescent green eye. More white streams of bubbles whooshed past Sam as the kids panicked; he had to be quick. So the hunter drew his silver knife and kicked downwards, but he wasn’t the only one who kicked; a clawed hoof-thing missed his head by some sort of (Satanic) miracle, but Sam took the opening and thrust the silver knife as hard as he could between the ribs near its front leg. The thing gave a silent roar and Sam braced himself to be clawed by wicked hind leg talons, but a bright green glow flickered underneath its skin. That scaled hide dissolved into riverweed, and left its human accessories behind. His lungs burned, but Sam took his knife in his teeth like a motherfucking pirate and wrapped his giant arms around as many kids as he could carry, while Ella’s mother did the same. Some of the older children had already kicked off towards the surface and he followed them toward the light. 

Sam burst from the water with a supermodel arc of fantastic hair, just to have the moment broken by Dean’s yell.  
“Sam! Behind you!”  
There was a gunshot, and shrill kiddie screams, and Sam turned to see a pissed-off hubby kelpie with a bullet through its head carving a Jaws-like path in the current toward him. Oh. Their Spanish dissection buddy.  
“Take them, take them.” He spat his knife into his hand and shoved his armfuls of child toward Ella’s mother, then turned to his brother on the steep bank. “Through the _heart_ , Dean!”  
“You try shooting its heart from this angle!” Dean fired another shot, but it only glanced off the kelpie’s shoulder. Fine. He’d wrassle the thing Steve Irwin style.  
Sam floundered back toward the edge of the river opposite to where both Dean and the children were, to a depth where normal people would have been swimming, but freakishly tall moose men like himself could stand. Sam knew Lucifer wouldn’t let it kill him or even hurt him, but he was the only one the Devil would protect.  
“Hey, come and get me, come and get me you son of a bitch!” Sam yelled even though children were present, and opened his arms. The kelpie gave a ferocious neigh, and reared up, a fearsome black silhouette against the sun with eyes that glowed bright, lucid green with fury. Sam bared his teeth, put his faith in Satan to stop those wicked hooves ripping his face off, threw all his weight behind the thrust and buried his blade in the thing’s scaled hide. It shrieked, convulsed with green light, then collapsed into a pile of weeds and floated away. Thank fucking God. Or…whatever. 

Sam sighed and dragged his sodden ass on to the grassy bank. A violent shiver wracked through his body from the crisp breeze and his nips went diamond hard. Ugh. His best suit’d been ruined too.  
“You ok?” Dean yelled from across the river. The adrenaline had started to wear thin, and left him with a sore back, a chill and a wrecked suit which would cost all their poker hustle money, not to mention he was still tied to the Satanic Dark Lord, but yeah he was fine.  
“Yeah, I’m g-good!” He yelled back and ran an icy hand through his hair.  
“No, you’re cold and wet and unhappy and I’m taking you back to the motel.” Lucifer appeared and had the expression of being dunked in ice water, just not the actual wetness.  
“You know, you c-could have just saved us all this bother and ic-ced the k-k-kelpies yourself.” Sam sent Satan a sassy smile through the chatter of his teeth and folded his arms over his nipples that ached, they were so hard. Well at least he didn’t have to worry about any misbehaviour of his disloyal dick in this temperature.  
“How much fun would that be?” Lucifer raised his eyebrows and reached toward Sam’s shoulder, but the younger Winchester held up a hand.  
“Wait a m-minute.” He turned back to Dean who had two children in his arms and two attached to his legs. “Sa – I mean - Luci’s taking m-me back to the motel!”  
“Fine, just – “ Dean eyeballed Lucifer, but seemed to remember that a) there were children present and b) there were normal people present who didn’t understand the biblical situations of their lives. “Stay safe.” He finished and hauled another kid up the riverbank. It was a pity Sam wouldn’t get to see The Adventures of Dean, Nine Kids and A Soccer Mom in the Impala, but he _really_ wanted a hot shower and clothes that didn’t smell of riverweed. A fuzzy blanket and coffee wouldn’t go amiss either.  
“Alright then.” He gave Lucifer the nod, and the chill of the riverside was replaced with the chill of skody living quarters. Sam gave shiver and left Satan to do whatever as he pretty much tackle-hugged the shower.

 

Oh Jesus that felt good. The ice in Sam’s muscles melted under the heat and steam, and he gave a sigh of relief. His back twinged a little from where Chestnut had thrown him, but other than that the water pressure was a perfect aide to the chill and ache of his body; the benefits of working hard, he supposed, was that relaxation felt so much better, more deserved.  
Sam picked a limp leaf out of his hair as he lathered it up with soap. Dude, he was so glad water fiends didn’t pop up that much. Yeah, maybe in Summer, that’d be nice, but of course the Scottish can of whoop-ass would pick Fall. It was probably Scottish Summer to them. The hunter hissed as his lower back ached again, and he reached around to feel whether he’d done more damage than he first estimated.  
“Need a hand with that?”  
“ _Lucifer!_ ” Sam jumped about a mile, almost span around, remembered he was buck-ass naked and settled with a glare over his shoulder. “Get the hell out of my shower!”  
“What?” The archangel was, to his surprise but eternal thanks, fully clothed apart from bare feet, and looked as though Sam had suggested the most absurd thing in the world. “It’s not like I haven’t seen most of you before. You’re not embarrassed are you?”  
Sam remembered just how thick angels could be sometimes. “Wha – no, it’s just, can’t I even shower in peace? It’s weird!”  
“But you’re in pain, Sammy.” Lucifer’s voice was gentle and had the persuasive undertone that he used in ‘get Sam to say yes’-like scenarios.

Sam sucked in a breath and half a mouthful of water as Lucifer’s fingers massaged into the spot on his back. Tingles shot up his spine and lanced through his bare ass, and it was all Sam could do to stop a groan of relief. Oh no. Heat swarmed up Sam’s neck and cheeks as his cock pricked up, twitched with delight at the healing touch that eased into his musculature with perfect pressure. Shit. Sam balled his hands against the wall of the tiny shower cubicle. Couldn’t the Devil’s claustrophobia kick in right about now? But Lucifer felt content along their little connection. Smug even.  
“Lucifer, I swear…” He growled and tried to send the Devil creative thoughts about what he could do with a shampoo bottle, but the archangel seemed to have no intention of letting up. Sam wasn’t sure he wanted him to; this was the best goddamn massage he’d had in his entire life. Half of him just wanted to give in, turn to putty underneath Lucifer’s fingers and let the archangel do whatever the fuck he wanted. But the other John-Winchester-stubborn side of him blared the alarm of BAD BAD BAD, SATAN SATAN SATAN MASSAGING YOUR NAKED ASS IN THE FUCKING SHOWER YOU MORON.  
“Lucifer, seriously!” Sam yelled, but it came out as more of a whine as those talented fingers rubbed quick circles into the dense muscle of his shoulders. The hunter caught sight of his own cock in a thick, red curve out from his body and hissed in frustration at himself, at Lucifer, at the desperate pressure that had begun to build in his belly. Pleasure pulsed through his thighs and down his flat stomach in quivers, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t even feel the water on his skin anymore, just Lucifer’s touch and the throb of his cock that hadn’t been this aching, hard and eager in _months_. Shit, he wanted…he needed…  
A little high noise slipped his lips before he could stop it, which just made both his face and cock burn with even more fury.  
“Didn’t quite catch that, Sammy.” Lucifer murmured and slid his hands down to rest just above Sam’s ass, and he was snapped back to common sense with murderous clarity.

A little while before Sam had his shower epiphany Dean flashed his badge to both the police and ambulance crew that Ella’s mother, who he had discovered actually had a name and it was Janet, had called while Sam went Rambo in the river with the Scottish hell horse.  
“So the Agent that saved you from…the rabid horse.” The police office narrowed her eyes, but didn’t push.  
“He went home for a shower?” Janet tried, all wrapped up in a shock blanket with her daughter on her knee. All the kids had made it out alive, although some had been taken down to Horse Town’s general hospital for water inhalation.  
“Yeah, he does that.” Dean nodded and took his chance to talk shit on Sam in his absence. “My FBI partner. Does stupidly heroic things then can’t face the paparazzi and goes home to shower. Has this whole mystery complex, kinda thinks he’s Batman.”  
“Mmm, more like Aquaman.” Janet bit her lip at the memory of the riverside wet T-shirt competition. Bless the day the Government made FBI shirts white.  
“Or the Lone Ranger.” Another kid’s mother giggled. “Did you see how he galloped away after that wild animal like a cowboy into the sunset?”  
“Well, you’ve always had a thing for men who can ride, Sharon.” Janet grinned and Dean felt like he’d had quite enough menopausal salivating over his brother for one day.  
“Alright officers, if that’s everything?” Dean turned to the police woman with a nod. “I’m going to go check on Clint Eastwood back at the Ranch.”  
“Does he want my number?” Sharon, a married woman, called after him.  
“Sorry, no unsolicited calls, ma’am.” Dean shook his head and wondered how the heck Sam had become such cougarbait. If only he had to worry about that instead of Satan going full manther on him or whatever. Seriously, if he got back and found either one of them missing so much as a sock, he was getting out the Mexican mom sandal.

It took Dean five minutes to reach their motel, and to his delight there was no naked Sam draped across any of the furniture.  
_SMACK!_  
“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SHOWER, SATAN!” Sam’s moose-like bellow was followed by the appearance of a half-wet, smug Lucifer who most definitely was missing a sock. Two socks.  
“Mmm, your brother’s a feisty one! Slaps like a hooker!” Lucifer flicked his eyebrows and Dean was lost for words, but Sam certainly was not.  
“Fuck you!”  
“In the shower or on the bed?” Lucifer called back and then his face snapped sideways as another ferocious _slap_ came from the bathroom. Dean didn’t know whether to get the shotgun or the popcorn. Instead he picked out the verbal berate.  
“Are you… _sexually molesting_ my brother?” He held up a finger and growled, but Satan looked all too pleased, despite being invisi-pimpslapped by Sam.  
“Just giving him a hand where he needs it.” Lucifer shrugged and rubbed his cheek absently, then dried his clothes with the flick of a finger. The Devil tapped his temple. “I can tell you know.”  
“Tell what.” Dean snarled and looked toward the silent shower room. No way. No way was Sammy gonna be _that_ stupid. And that way inclined. No, the Devil lied. Unless Sam had some weird kind of Satanic daddy kink that paired up with his monster mash kink, there was no way in Hell.  
Lucifer opened his mouth as if to reply, but was interrupted by the entrance of the bitchface of the century and a very clothed Sam. Good. Dean shot Satan a content little smirk and went to get him and his brother a well-earned beer. He was just at the fridge as his personal phone rang.  
“Hello?” Dean shared a glance with Sam.  
“Dean? Is that Dean? This is your old babysitter Donna. I…I think we need some help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! :D I'd love to hear what you thought of the chapter, so leave a comment if you like n.n Thank you to everyone who has already left kudos and comments, you are the best!! Next chapter is 5x12 Swap Meat, so if you want a bit of homework, maybe go to watchseries and refresh that memory ;) (but look out for popup ads ay) Thank you for reading, and stay awesome! ✺◟༼ຈ ل͜ ຈ༽◞✺  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	6. In Which Gary Gets A Sugar Daddy And Sam Gets A New Friend

Gary Frankel’s soulless, dark eyes bored into Sam Winchester’s hot manly man body with no shame as they sat at the plastic diner table. In his line of work, the almighty Winchester moose was more used to serial killer stares than just general everyday stares, so it didn’t even prickle the gratuitous hair on the back of his neck. Satan, however, had other ideas.

Lucifer couldn’t be bothered to stay visible and have to listen to the constant whine of Dean complain about his Satanic presence. But if there was something the Devil had a particular talent at, it was sensing sinful motives. And this Gary child was full to the brim – one of his little groupies, it seemed.  
Lucifer prowled behind the counter, as Gary’s unblinking stare at Sam’s biceps still did not break and circled around the weed, analysis on the tick. Witch, seventeen, sexual virgin but not blood virgin, tiny, allergic to pretty much everything, and murderous. Hmm. It seemed his little follower had a nice plan to hijack beefcake of the month over there, kill Dean (or at least sell him to demons) and live a nice, happy, gluten-filled life. Satan just about clapped his hands in glee. True, he would much rather have Sam’s sass while he wore his ass, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and right now it looked as though Gary would solve all his problems for him. Nick had been killed by the Colt, and Lucifer had rather gotten used to the silence in his vessel, but hey, if Gary whined too much, he’d, ugh, cut out the tongue of his soul or squish him into non-existence, Satan didn’t care. Did that mean he cared about Sam? Lucifer waved a hand as though to dismiss the thought. Hey, he was the Satanic Overlord, he was allowed to have favourites.  
So Lucifer said nothing and meandered back to his human. It wasn’t a lie if he didn’t tell Sam what was going on…it was just a delay of the truth, that was all. This all could go very, very well.

This was a terrible idea, Lucifer thought several hours later as he plummeted fifteen metres out of the air and created an archangel-shaped hole in some suburban mom’s lawn. Agony seared through his vast being as part of him was ripped away; not gone, but stretched like a limb still connected by raw tendons and Lucifer gritted his teeth against the pain of it. Ok. Not good. Not good at all. He clawed himself up from the surprise mud bath gravity had submitted him to as he tried to look around. The world blurred in a way the archangel hadn’t experienced before, and the realization hit him that he was going to black out in a vulnerable heap. Not only that, if Lucifer did survive, he would have to limp after some tween witch while the real Sam had to try not to die from a dust-mite-induced asthma attack. As the world faded the thought that he could switch them back right now if he _really_ wanted to… but no Lucifer, no. This…this could.. could still work. He could sacrifice, what, the 300,000th of his essence that had been ripped away to get world domination. 

***

Sam had had what you might call a rough night. If being blow-darted, crammed into an under 18 (and under 6ft) body, being berated by parental, suburban civilians and made to wear a burger apron fitted under the umbrella of ‘rough’. Hell, his hair wasn’t even three inches long. At least Satan hadn’t made an appearance yet, but maybe that was another turn of bad luck. If Sam was in a kid’s body then maybe this kid – Gary – was in his and about to be subjected to the forked tongue of the Serpent of the Garden. And Sam was fairly sure there were many ways Lucifer might use that tongue to get what he wanted. Poor child. 

The 26-yr-old gone 17 sighed, tucked Gary’s phone back into his pocket and turned to his assailant’s room. Whoever this guy was, he had to have some dirty, dirty secrets tucked away behind this white-picket fence and beige wallpaper. Then again, if Sam had to stay behind a white picket fence and look at beige wallpaper for a minimum of three hours a day, he might go stir-crazy and skin a man in honour of Xipe Totec just for something to do. How Dean ever fancied the life, Sam had no idea. But then again Dean wasn’t a demon-blooded freak destined to be the Devil’s mugshot. 

The hunter skimmed over Gary’s shelves. Hmm, it seemed the dirty secrets weren’t his grades; Advanced Chemistry, Advanced Physics…  
“Smart kid.” Sam turned to the wardrobe, flipped through the geekfest within and rolled his new set of eyes. “Virgin.”  
He almost looked around for Lucifer’s amused huff of laughter, but scowled at himself. Nope, he was not missing that shower intruder. Sam rolled his tiny shoulders in determination. Whelp, time to snap on the mental latex gloves and dive under the bed. He hauled out the very, very suspicious shoe box under there, and his 17-year-old heart picked up with excitement. Maybe Gary was just stupid enough to put a lead on his body-snatching antics in here…Sam sighed. Or maybe it was just porn.  
“Frustrated virgin.” He tossed Busty Asian Beauties (the volume number of which Dean could probably rattle off by heart from a one-second glance at the cover) and considered, perhaps, that Gary may have just hi-jacked his muscles for a chance with the ladies. Ugh. Creepy. Or... The glint of an ornate dagger caught Sam’s eye, along with a sigil cloth.

He shook the thing open and sighed with exasperation. “Witchcraft, huh Gary? You little Satanic bastard.”  
“Rude.”  
Sam’s hand snapped to the knife on instinct, only to drop again as he saw the familiar blonde archangel. Lucifer leaned against the drawers and put a hand up to his own forehead. Well at least he couldn’t whisper sweet nothings of the ‘yes’ persuasion into the ear of an underage witch wearing Sam’s skin this way.  
“I have had the worst night.” The Devil groaned and earned an eyebrow raise.  
“ _You’ve_ had a bad night? At least you’re still…you!” Sam shifted more objects around in the box, but there didn’t seem to be any kind of spellbook.  
“You think this is me? You think I’m Lucifer?” The other man flashed his teeth in a laugh and crossed his arms. Sam looked up at the archangel – or whatever this was – and had the strangest urge just to reach out and touch him. That brought back the near loss of control he’d had in the shower, and Sam crushed the thought like a very inappropriate bug.  
“Then what are you, Gary’s conscience?” So much for Gary’s retained innocence. Well so far the bastard deserved tied to a St Andrew’s Cross and flogged by the Devil until he said yes. Sam frowned at the vivid image that crossed his mind and sighed as his teenage dick decided it liked it. For fuck’s sake.  
“I’m the 300,000th of Lucifer that is attached to your consciousness.” The satanic likeness sat back on Gary’s nightstand and pulled his feet to rest on a drawer handle so his hands hung loose between his knees. “So maybe I’m _your_ conscience. Devil on your shoulder?”

Lucifer winked, and Sam considered himself lucky; he might’ve got the 300,000th of Lucifer that liked to skewer twelve year olds. Instead he’d just got Mr Chatty.  
“Can you put me – us – right?” The hunter tossed Gary’s shit back in the box and Satan’s twin bared his teeth in a fake grimace of disgust as Sam picked up the porn.  
“Might wanna put on gloves for that one. At least wash your hands.” The archangel fragment wrinkled his nose and Sam made a mental note to find the Dettol and dissolve his skin with it. “And no, I can hardly warm soup up like this, never mind a full soul transfer. In fact, I doubt the suburban threesome downstairs will be able to see me.”  
Sam pulled what he hoped was a very unamused face at fake Satan’s inappropriate terminology and tossed Gary’s Devil- worshipper porn combo back under the bed. “And you’re not connected to Lucifer in any way?”  
“Oh yes, of course I’m tied to him.” Lucifer’s double shot Sam a perky smile. “Can’t talk to him though. Get flashes here and there…”  
Those totally not forget-me-not blue eyes squinted at the ceiling. “I think he’s flying above that trash heap your brother calls a car right now.”  
“Gary, breakfast!” The sharp tone of Gary’s mother cut through Sam’s frustration, and he glanced towards the door for a moment, then back to his satanic companion.  
“Mothers, huh?” The blonde archangel shrugged and smiled with teasing eyes up at him as Sam rose to his pathetic height.  
“Uh, I’ve never really had a mother.” Sam had been undercover in prisons, asylums, as police, but as a kid in his own white-bread suburban have-your-food-cooked-for-you-at-the-age-of-seventeen family? When had the world become so insane that this was even a situation in his life? Sam bared his teeth in an almost apologetic grimace at Lucifer’s talkative twin. “What do I do?”  
The archangel opened his hands in the universal gesture of ‘fucked if I know’. “I’ve existed for a conscious being for what, one minute forty five seconds now, and Lucifer didn’t have a mother. Just, y’know, big G.”  
Sam tried not to think about how similar he and the Devil were, but was cut off by another sharp call.  
_“Gary!”_  
“Alright I’m coming!” Sam yelled back and headed off towards a day of gluten-deprivation and Lucifer the Imaginary Friend.

  
“Yeah, Maggie Briggs is in the basement.” Gary couldn’t believe his luck! Holy cow, he’d struck gold. Not only did he have the prize-horse, Dean, fooled, but he had arms thicker than his legs had been, a swath of fantastic hair, and not to mention a much larger –  
“Come again? W...what basement?” Dean frowned and looked up from his keys.  
“Isiah Pickett’s house. Ok, there’s this legend that he hung her, but he didn’t.” Gary rattled off the rest of the story with gusto. He even got to gush about his favourite hobby! Well, apart from Star Wars. If he had, like Mace Windu’s lightsabre right now, he’d literally be in Heaven. Not likely though, as Gary was, as Sam put it, a little satanic bastard.  
“Well that would explain the scratches.” The older Winchester frowned and squinted Harry Potter green eyes in his direction. “Wait, how do you know all this?”  
“Oh I’ve done all kinds of research!” Gary blurted out in his new, deep, manly voice. Mother hubbard, he’d be able to, y’know, get Nora all… _that kind of excited_ with this voice. Dean’s eyebrows flicked up and the witch checked himself. “Oh, y’know, last night.”  
Hell’s most wanted nodded, then looked about as if they might be heard. “And how’s our Satanic problem?”  
Gary blanched, but he hoped Sam’s perfect tan covered it. Did Dean know? He’d heard the Winchesters were good but…  
“Good, yeah, I’ve got it under control.” Gary’s mouth seemed to answer for him, and by some miracle Dean didn’t shoot him in the face.  
“Yeah, I gotta say I approve of your tactics.” Dean sighed. “Only wish I could lend a good pimpslap too, but you know how it is.”  
Gary blinked and wondered what kind of satanic problems Sam had sorted out with a pimpslap. “Oh yeah, yeah, wish you could do more.”  
He nodded and Dean’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “You do?”  
“Of course, Dean.” Gary shrugged his giant, muscular, glorious shoulders and prayed to his lord Satan that Dean didn’t call him out. 

His Dark Majesty, who lay invisible and in pain on his stomach on the warm roof of the Impala between the pair, sighed but didn’t even bother; it seemed Dean was all too happy to accept this new, anti-Devil Sam with an open heart. But Lucifer was patient. He couldn’t fly Gary far without the part of him with Sam’s consciousness being torn right off, and he needed to be one-hundred percent sure Gary would say yes to him before that happened. Even the distance they’d driven had ripped like a bitch, so he’d just bide his time. Soon enough Dean would leave Gary alone and vulnerable, and then it was game on.  
“Well, let’s get this show on the road, then we can hit the books.” Dean patted the roof of the car straight through Satan’s elbow and smiled. The Devil considered a well-aimed punch through his teeth in response, but was hit by a flash of Physics instead.

“Dude, what’s the difference between vector and scalar again?” Sam hissed to his Invisibuddy Lucifer, who had conjured up his own Invisichair and sat directly opposite him on the other side of the desk. It helped in the way that he didn’t look insane when he turned to pocket Satan for answers on what he hadn’t been taught for a decade or so, but it didn’t help that whenever he looked up, those bright blue eyes twinkled back at him. And fun-size Lucifer seemed even more perky and energetic than the deluxe version.  
“Scalars are only described by magnitude – you could remember it like an earthquake on the Richter _scale_ – scalar – has a certain _magnitude_. Vectors are magnitude and direction.” Lucifer smiled across at him and chewed on the end of a fake pen. Sam couldn’t help but think, with his new and reactive teenage body, that the blonde archangel would make one hell of a professor: a white shirt, loose tie and maybe some crooked, square glasses…the hunter glared at his pop quiz and tried not to think about how crossing his legs might be a good idea right about now. It’s ok Sam. Seventeen year olds get a boner at a slight breeze down there not to mention…

Satan’s twin grinned, pen still between his teeth and to Sam’s horror, a pair of crooked, square glasses appeared on his nose. “Penny for your thoughts, Sam?”  
“I hate you.” He muttered, did a small equation and scribbled in an answer to Question 8. Pocket Satan raised his eyebrows in offense, but still kept the damn glasses.  
“The thanks I get.” Lucifer 2.0 huffed and looked away as though cut deep by the words. “I help you pass this child’s test and you go say something like that to me. Just fill the rest out with ‘I Suck’. Y’know – ”  
“Can you be quiet for one second?” Sam growled and rolled his eyes as the teacher looked up from her laptop.  
“Unless you want help with quantum numbers and orbitals, and that’ll require an apology.” Lucifer leaned forward and drew the pen over the swell of his bottom lip, between his teeth, then slid it out again in a slow rhythm of two repetitions that sent Sam’s rented dick to full, rock, hard attention. Which actually wasn’t all that impressive. “Or I could try and get my apology in other ways…”  
If today had taught him something, it was that fun size Lucifer was incorporeal even to him, thus Sam had no fear of being suddenly jerked off in class by the invisible man. So he bent his head, ignored both his body and the archangel fragment across from him with a passion and tried to recall 12th Grade Physics.

 

Gary, on the other hand, had decided today had been the best day of his entire life. He’d seen a real-live ghost, wasted the sucker, eaten actual bread and now cradled the most delicious alcoholic beverage in his huge, strong hands.  
“So Gary, are you having a good time tonight?” The nice blonde lady who’d joined him at the bar continued.  
“Mm, thank you for asking, Crystal.” He slurped the banana daiquiri and for a moment couldn’t believe this was actually real. Sam sure did have it good. Poor, poor Gary had no clue what he was in store for. “This is, like, the best night ever.”  
“Do you think we could make it any better?” Crystal slid forward a little. Perhaps she wanted to try more of the delicious alcohol they had here. Then a firm hand turned Gary’s jaw, and before he could even react to the touch, a hot pair of lips pushed against his with such skilled desire that Gary’s poor little virgin brain sparked out for a second.  
“Not cheating on me, are we?” A low, very male voice asked, and Gary’s eyes flew wide open as he took in…oh Jesus. Did Sam have a sugar daddy? Oh no. This…this was not part of the deal. “Or are you inviting her to the party?”  
The older, blonde man threw a wink and a wicked grin across at Crystal who looked like Christmas had come early. What party? Was it Sam’s sugar daddy’s birthday?  
“Oh, er – “  
“Yes, yes, he was.” Crystal grinned and Gary tried not to panic as the other man sucked with greedy lips down his jaw.  
Oh God. What did he do? If he pushed Sam’s sugar daddy away, he might get suspicious of…of what? What right-minded person would ever come to the conclusion that their – their _young man friend_ had his soul swapped out? But, but he wasn’t gay! Although, in hindsight, Sam did have the ‘hot gay man look’, so maybe he should have seen this coming.  
Gary seemed to have frozen in panic at the unknown void that just opened itself in front of him. He couldn’t go _that_ deep undercover! 

Then Crystal’s long-fingered hand stroked up his huge chest as the blonde man’s tongue and teeth sent shivers through his neck right down his spine.  
“Say yes, sweetheart, one little yes, that’s all I need and we can take you to a world of pleasure.” Sugar Daddy breathed against his throat and Gary had to grip the bar to stop himself sliding off the chair with either shock or the sudden barrage to his senses. How come the bartender didn’t stop this? Surely this was public indecency!  
“Go on, Gary…” Crystal batted those big brown eyes at him and slid a hand up his thigh. Gary really wanted to squeak ‘help’ but a) Sam Winchester’s voice didn’t really squeak and b) he’d dreamed of scenarios like this, minus the sugar daddy.  
“I’ll let you have her while I watch, sweetie.” The other man’s voice purred in his ear as soft teeth lit up the nerves along its rim. _Oh._ “I need to know if I can possess you. Just one. Little. Yes.”  
Sugar Daddy punctuated each word with a flick of his tongue, and Gary didn’t know whether it was the alcohol, the sudden rush of blood away from his head or a side effect from the spell, but one moment he had ‘yes’ on the tip of his tongue and the next a wave of black crashed over his vision and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am having so much fun with this! :D If you are having fun too, I'd love to hear what you think! Your comments always make my day ♥ If you'd like to guess how the boys are gonna get out of this one, I'd love to hear it too ;) And I'll let you know the next chapter is a lot to look forward to ;) Thank you so much for reading and being awesome, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Stay fantastic amigos (∿°○°)∿ ♡  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	7. In Which The Devil Plus Drinking Ends Exactly How Sam Should Have Predicted It Would

Dean threw an apologetic smile up at the bar cougar as he hooked one hand under Lucifer’s arm and the other under Sam’s. Or not Sam’s. He’d had his suspicions since Sam had asked him to turn up the mullet rock, and when he’d ordered a burger instead of leaf shit, well, that had been too much. Whoever this was, it wasn’t Sam. Ok, it had to be Sam’s body, because Lucifer was still here and had hit the deck when the roofies had kicked in. How he’d managed to slip the drugs into Fake Sam’s whiskey without Satan noticing almost made Dean worry about how much of a bad person he could be if he wanted to be.  
“Lightweights, the pair of them.” Dean shrugged up at the very disappointed blonde. “After one drink they drop like a stone and I’m the one who has to drag their sorry asses home.”

This would be a mission – he couldn’t haul their deadweight asses back to the car one at a time or the pain that seemed to keep them together might wake them up. And Dean didn’t want to see what a pissed-off, roofied Satan was like, now he had no Sam to be an idiot and try to ice himself if Lucifer hurt Dean.  
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, Sammy, but I wish you ate more salads.” He groaned and wondered how his life had gone from the simple things like hunting wendigos and vampires to dragging his possessed brother and Satan through a bar.  
“And what the shit have you been eating? Rocks?” Dean grunted at Lucifer whose head lolled in a very unhelpful fashion. He gave a pained nod to more patrons, booted the door open behind him, dropped the Devil and heaved Fake Sam over to his baby.  
“Ok, you can go in the front.” Why did Sam have so many limbs? Why were they so big? Dean studied the situation and Fake Sam’s unconscious derpface. Somehow he had to get 200lbs or more of gangly brother from the tarmac and into the car.  
“C’mon, you fat bastard.” Dean crouched, hoped there were no passers-by to witness what looked like a very bad attempt at kidnap, and hefted Fake Sam’s lower half into the Impala’s passenger side.  
He wrapped both his arms under his little – well decidedly not – brother’s arms and hauled him into the seat. Fake Sam did nothing but slide sideways and almost impale himself on the gearstick. What an anticlimactic end to the Apocalypse that would have been.

Dean scowled and turned to problem number two. He knew he had to be just as careful with Lucifer as he had been with Sam, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. Dean was very tempted to strap this Satanic hoe to the roof or just bung him in the trunk, but he neither had duct tape or space, so the backseats would have to do.  
“Oh I’m so sorry Baby.” Dean bared his teeth and went with the same tactic as Sam and swung Lucifer’s legs onto the backseats, then hefted his torso and slid him forward on the smooth leather. The Impala didn’t deserve this. His baby deserved to have a Satan-free life. At that second Dean noticed a couple about to walk past and see him in the act of what would appear to be stowing a body on the backseat.  
“Eh, I’m not really sorry.” Dean pushed the Devil up into a diagonal position, slammed the door before he could slide out again and gave a strained smile to the pair. “Hi.”  
Behind him, there was a dull clunk as Lucifer’s head hit the door, then several thuds as it appeared he’d toppled into the foot space. The pair side-eyed him and the car, but said nothing as Dean covered both the noise and his grin of glee with a loud cough, then power walked to the driver’s side. Jeez, how he was going to pull this one off, Dean had no idea.

  
Lucifer opened his eyes to a very blurred, very shit bathroom, and tried to groan but nothing came out. This had not gone to plan. This had not gone to plan at all, and now he was half dead on tiles that had their own ecosystems with no true vessel, no relief for the slow, raw tug of his missing piece and very little dignity. A low point, it had to be said. How had Dean slipped that roofie past him? Lucifer had got bored for one second (hey, the Gary kid was more of a wet dishcloth than a human)… He tried to lift his head, but his limbs just wouldn’t work. Maybe if he made a crater of this entire town he’d feel just a little better, but his aim was so shot that he might explode the Ozone Layer instead. And Lucifer had nothing against the Ozone Layer, which had never _fucking roofied_ him.  
“Where’s Sam?” Dean’s warped voice cut through his spite, and Satan thought he might have regained the use of his mouth.  
“Inn my friendssh b…basement.. his p..parents are out of town…“ Gary slurred in Sam’s stolen voice in the room outside this poor excuse for a bathroom. Sam wouldn’t have gotten Lucifer drugged and chucked in an ensuite made more of mould than actual building material. He and Sam, they looked after each other, and even if the Winchester had a habit of punching himself in the face, Lucifer would take that over this any day. But he had regained neither the spatial awareness and concentration it required to switch the souls back without an accident, so Lucifer just waited, cheek squished into the floor fuzz, for the drugs to drain out of Gary’s system.  
“Parents…How old are you?” Dean’s confused voice would have been funny in any other situation.  
“Sevv..teen.” Gary managed out, and Lucifer’s vast awareness picked up…oh shit. 

The Devil poured concentration into concealment as he felt a demon land right outside the motel room door. This was not how the Glorious King of Sin should appear to his worshippers.  
“Seventeen?” The word just made it out of that asshole’s mouth when he was flung across the room. Double shit. The demon would want to puff and preen and present the drugged up vessel to him, which meant there would be a very awkward silence in Hell when everyone realized he’d gone out and not come back yet. Then they might summon him and realize his weakness…ugh. It was just all too complicated for Lucifer’s bemused brain, and he’d prefer Sam over Gary as company any day. But in his state, if he tried to disintegrate the demon, he might miss and hit Sam’s body. Or Dean, but that would just be a bonus. Satan gave a sigh and felt along the ragged, raw string between himself and the piece of consciousness that was attached to Sam. It was neither drugged or in pain on a bathroom floor, and he poured strength into it as the sweet sound of Dean’s face meeting the floor cracked through the air.  
“C’mon…” He muttered, then opened his eyes both in the bathroom and in a basement. Before the demon could hog-tie Gary and make Lucifer’s life Hell, he wrapped his power around Sam and wrenched the piece of his essence and his human back to him. Ohhh that hit the spot. The shard of himself sank back into his consciousness and the Devil small groan of relief.  
“Lucifer?” Sam’s teenage voice came from above him, and the archangel just flicked the door open with a clumsy wing.  
“Go.” He mumbled and tried to look up with heavy eyes, but got as far as Gary’s bad taste in shoes before Sam leapt over him and began to rattle off a demon exorcism. About fucking time.

***

Sam drew his hands over his face and let out a long sigh. What a day. What a long, stupid day. It was on days like these that Sam could sympathize with Lucifer’s plan to burn humankind to a well-deserved crisp. He looked across at Dean’s prone form on the bed and rubbed his eye. His own eye. Sweet Jesus’ buttcheeks, it felt good to be back in his own body. Sam had tried to sleep, but the sheer relief at his return and excitement about the feel of his long, glorious hair hadn’t let him. So he’d kicked back at the window side table on one of the chairs that hadn’t been destroyed in a demonic struggle and just revelled in the sensation of his own body. Right about now, he could really do with a –  
“Drink?” Lucifer sighed, conjured a chair and slid into it. There was no wicked smirk, no ulterior glint in those forget-me-not eyes, just a bottle of whiskey and the expression of an archangel who was ready to down about seven hundred of them. Looked like they both needed cheering up, so Sam ignored the tiny protest that said alcohol plus the Devil might not be such a great plan and nodded.  
“Bad day?” He tugged the glass toward him and raised his eyebrows as Lucifer downed his shot.  
“Ugh, I suppose even I’m not immune to karma.” The blonde archangel’s lip curled, and Sam matched his drink, then looked at the glass in pleasant surprise. Whatever brand Lucifer had conjured up, this was good shit.  
“Mmm, you let Gary blow-dart me, didn’t you? I figured.” Sam couldn’t really be angry – if he’d been in Lucifer’s position, he wouldn’t have let up on an opportunity like that. Satan just poured them both another drink.  
“Can’t blame me for trying, Sam.” Lucifer took a sip, but the usual question never came.  
“And man, it sounded like you tried. Gary thinks I have a sugar daddy.” Sam grinned across the table as the blonde man just about snorted his whiskey. That in-car conversation had been a fun one.

But it was good to be back, it was good to be here, and hell, it was somehow good to see the real Lucifer across from him with that charismatic gleam back in his eyes.  
“Oh no, now that is too precious.” Satan smirked and swirled his whiskey. Sam took another drink and spread himself out a little more in the chair as a happy rush swelled through him from the booze. Lucifer’s eyes caught on the movement, but Sam didn’t mind at all. “It was only a bit of kissing too – one second longer and I would’ve had Gary the teenage witch as an eternal companion.”  
Lucifer made a face and sipped more whiskey. “Ugh, I’m pretty glad that didn’t work out actually.”  
“Aw, did you miss me?” Sam laughed and held his glass out for a top up, which Satan happily provided. The table suddenly seemed so long and Lucifer so far away, so Sam used the excuse to reach his glass to shift his chair around the corner of the table.  
“Well, you know humans aren’t my favourite things – “  
“Huh, after today, I get you there.” Sam huffed, and grinned a little more than he should have as tingles fled out to his fingers and a warm, fuzzy glow settled through his chest.  
“But you…well I think I wouldn’t mind spending eternity with you.” Eyes that teased met Sam’s and the hunter felt his breath come with a little more difficulty. Blood pounded down to his groin, but right now Sam just didn’t give a shit. His clothes seemed too hot and clung to his skin, and Sam tugged at the bottom of his shirt as Lucifer shifted his chair closer so now both of them sat on the longer side of the table. The booze was good, the conversation was good and the company was evil but good-looking. Yeah, Sam’s uninhibited brain could admit that he could lose himself in Lucifer’s easy charisma, to the point where he wanted see what those wide-bowed lips tasted like run his fingers through that coarse blonde hair and satisfy that deep urge to touch the archangel, do…anything, everything with him that didn’t involve ‘yes’. He wasn’t _that_ drunk.

 

Of all the experiences today, Lucifer had to admit this was the most pleasant. In a regular situation, it would take an unholy amount of alcohol to even get him tipsy, but with his connection to Sam? Mmm. Heat pulsed in a wave down Lucifer’s body, and he licked his lips as Sam pretty much giggled a few inches away from him. The younger Winchester’s tough resolve had dissolved into a happy little squish that grinned and giggled and spread a loose, receptive body out... A swath of fire rushed up Satan’s neck, and he arched his head to the side just to keep it at bay. His dick throbbed and ached, hard within the tight confines of these jeans and fuck… He’d never seen humans as anything near attractive, he’d never lusted after one, he’d never seduced one with any intention other than a means to an end, but right here, right now, he _wanted_ Sam, wanted him for every selfish reason. 

Lucifer’s famous tongue curled in his mouth, desperate to taste Sam’s lips, Sam’s skin and it didn’t matter and it didn’t seem wrong. Another wash of heat burned down his restless body as he watched Sam’s lips slide off the glass. A small trickle of whiskey missed and made a track down his chin, and Lucifer wanted to lick it off, bite that strong jaw, thrust against that hard body in front of him until this greed was sated. Fuck…he shifted his thighs apart and took in Sam with heavy-lidded eyes.  
“Mmm, I’ve never been drunk before.” Lucifer circled the rim of his glass with a steady finger and Sam’s grin lit up the dim room like a lamp.  
“Jeez, Lucifer, learn to live a little.” Sam bit his smiling lip and took another gulp. “Y’know…you’re nice for a…the Devil.”  
The pretty little creature gave the most adorable hiccough and shifted his chair so close that their knees brushed. Even from that small contact, Lucifer’s cock twitched and leaked, and his fingers buzzed, his tongue buzzed with impatience and sensation. The Devil’s skin tingled, hyper-alert, but as though he would only be able to feel pleasure, not pain. And he _so_ wanted pleasure right now, and Satan knew Sam had been frustrated for weeks, if not months…  
“Well you’re nice to be around, Sammy.” Lucifer licked his lips again and leaned forward on his own spread knees so that Sam would have to move his face back if he didn’t want them inches apart. Sam didn’t budge at all. “Dean is a bastard though.”

Sam just gave a snigger, ducked his head. The heat of his body at this proximity was nigh irresistible, and Lucifer could almost taste the whiskey on his lips…  
“Yeah, he’s so bossy. And tiny. Like a little…midget with eyes that cross if you look at him straight on.” Sam giggled and Lucifer found a grin on his face too.  
“Sounds like Michael and Raphael.” Lucifer took another swig of whiskey, straight out the bottle this time. “They were…hehe…always so straight laced, then me and Gabe would come along and dunk them in tar and feathers, and Raphael had to turn up to a meeting one time like that because we Enochian-sealed it on him…”  
The archangel suddenly realized just how easily the old memories dropped from his lips, and looked away, back to the bottle. Sam seemed to notice his expression change, because big hands reached up and gripped his shoulders.  
“No, no, no, don’t you worry Luci, we’ll sort this thing out with your brothers and you’ll be ok and alright because you’re a nice Devil and deserve nice things.” Sam pouted, his big hazel eyes all glazed with the effects of alcohol. The muted sadness that had reared up was churned away in a rush of heat, adrenaline and happy endorphins as Sam’s lazy neck arched up and his whiskey-scented breath huffed over Lucifer’s face, quick and laboured. Lucifer’s restless hands clawed nails into his own jeans, and he tilted his head, let a sliver of teeth show through his lips and brought a finger up to trail down this pretty young creature’s jaw.  
“I like nice things, Sam. And you are very nice.” He bit his lip, and Sam’s head jerked up. Before the Devil knew it, those hot lips pecked his nose.  
“Boop.” Sam settled back and seemed supremely pleased with himself, but Lucifer couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the driving throb of his rock hard dick anymore, he couldn’t take the restless itch in his hands and tongue, or the need that curved his spine towards Sam. They said Hell was hot, but this made him burn like a forest fire; there was no cool, archangel control, no thought of propriety or consequence, only the lowest, base need, the _hunger_... He should have felt weak or too human or _something_ , but fuck…he just wanted Sam too much right now. So without a second thought, he caught Sam’s jaw and pushed his lips against this pretty little thing.

Lucifer hadn’t really known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been for Sam to give a wanton moan, slide off the chair and straddle his lap. The tall man melted into the kiss with hungry, messy lips, but Lucifer didn’t care, he didn’t care that they sucked each other’s tongues with wet, hot, wild abandon in drunken clumsiness. He yanked Sam’s body against him, and the gorgeous creature gave a little, high giggle of delight, then took Lucifer’s bottom lip in his mouth and sucked it, drove his tongue into Satan’s mouth while his body arched with desperate excitement.  
“You’re so pretty, my pretty little creature…” Lucifer growled and thrust hard up against Sam’s crotch, Sam’s thigh, he didn’t know or care, but fuck it was good. A loud, wild moan tore from Sam’s mouth, and Satan threw out a little bit of power to keep Dean asleep. With easy archangel strength, Lucifer stood, hefted this strong, young body up around his hips and swept them both back toward the empty bed. Sam’s nails clawed down his scalp, and the younger Winchester laughed, so giddy and eager that Lucifer found himself with a grin too. Sam had probably never been picked up like this in his entire life. 

The Devil caught his foot on the bed, but Sam’s breath just gasped faster in delight as Lucifer lost his footing, unused to the swirl of drunk sensation, and ploughed them both on to the cheap motel duvet.  
“Uunh, Lucifer!” Sam moaned, and his hands were all over the Devil, all over his back, shoulders and sides, as his body arched up towards him with need.  
“Mmm, mmm, yes my pet, ‘m gonna give you what you need.” And what Lucifer needed too – his cock _hurt_ with pressure, and an ache thudded in his groin like nothing he’d ever experienced. He didn’t even bother with manners; strong archangel fingers tore strips from the lip of Sam’s jeans down his thighs. The belt snapped, the popper burst, the underwear beneath was shredded in his hunger and Sam threw his head back; his mouth worked around huge gasps, gulps of air, eyes screwed shut as his hard, wet cock was torn out of denim confines. So pretty and wild. So _his_. The human’s fingers scrabbled at Lucifer’s own belt, and the Devil growled like a beast into Sam’s neck as a burning hand slid down the front of his briefs and rubbed his furious erection with erratic, frantic strokes, but Lucifer was so swept away by the drunken passion of this, that it didn’t matter, he didn’t care…  
“Oh fuck, Sam!” He pushed that tanned face sideways into the pillow and sucked down that strong neck hard as Sam jerked him off, as Sam moaned and squirmed beneath him. Lucifer couldn’t breathe, his wings rattled with desperation and through the drunken madness, he felt his lips send ice and fire straight down his own spine, in an echo of Sam’s pleasure.  
“Make me come, make me come, fuck, please!” Sam gasped out beneath him, and then shouted as Lucifer bit down hard on his neck. 

The hand on his cock twisted, caught the cloth and yanked it down Lucifer’s thighs, and the archangel registered nails that had pushed under his shirt drag down from his shoulders to lower back. He liked it, shit he liked it too much, the way Sam unleashed that passion from under the calm surface and gave as much as he got.  
“You pretty little thing.” Lucifer lowered his body over the one that quivered with exasperation beneath him and thrust against the silky-smooth, slick, heat of the human’s hard cock.  
Sam gave a harsh groan and his body tensed, shuddered, and then those slim hips pumped up against him. Sam’s lips snatched his again, soft with a scratch of evening stubble, and there was something messy, hot, desperate and downright bestial about the way they fucked against each other, the way they kissed until their lips were swollen. Lucifer could hear his own grunts and cries as the world spun in the heat and sensation of being so tangled up around another body, and his nerve-endings danced with the sound of their pleasure. Sam’s teeth scraped and bit into his neck and still-clothed shoulders, and his frenzy just fed Lucifer’s drunken fire. The hunter’s rough hand fumbled between their thrusts and caught both their cocks in a loose grasp slicked with precome. 

An Enochian curse punched out Lucifer’s lips and he grasped the back of Sam’s neck with one hand and his muscular thigh with the other. This was crude and rough and fucking hell, Lucifer was dizzy with delight. Heat boiled low in his stomach and he rutted against that hard length without constraint, chasing the friction, the hot fucking ecstasy of orgasm.  
“Lucifer, oh fuck Lu – “ Sam broke off into a yell and tossed his head back with a thud as it caught the wall with the force of Lucifer’s hips, and violent quivers lanced through the Devil’s thighs as pleasure welled up from his groin through his stomach and spine.  
“Yes, Sam, yes, oh, you’re so good, you’re such a good, pretty, gorgeous – unh!” Lucifer grunted as Sam’s hand squeezed tight. The Devil’s eyes flew wide as heat rushed straight down his wings, plunged into his belly and convulsed right up his shaft. Shit! He gave a long groan from deep in his chest and worked up Sam’s throat and jaw with a rough, hot, forked tongue.  
“Oh – “ Sam writhed, clawed at the shirt on Lucifer’s back, then gave a loud, coarse cry as his body arched up and went rigid. A shock of pleasure shook Lucifer’s entire body from toes to shoulders, the windows blew outward, and violent spurts of white burst from beneath Sam’s fingers again and again as they both came. Lucifer dug his fingers so hard into the mattress that it tore, and his eyes rolled as the force of the hunter’s orgasm hit him through their connection.  
  
“Sam!” He moaned before he could stop himself, and buried his face in the sticky mess of sweat and his own saliva on Sam’s neck as this pretty young creature’s leg that Lucifer didn’t straddle spasmed up and hooked around his bare hip. A string of small, high noises ghosted out of the hunter’s throat as their bodies shivered flush against one another, and it took Lucifer a good few minutes of just the rise and fall of each other’s sated breath to realize his fingers were still embedded knuckle-deep in the mattress.  
“You’re a good little thing, Sam.” The archangel slurred as his body sank into the luxurious glow of satisfaction, and he reached a hand up to stroke through Sam’s hair.  
“Mm.” Sam tried to open his eyes a little way, but both the booze and orgasm on top of the day they’d had must have been too much.  
“Hmm, shh, it’s ok.” Lucifer caught his nails on Sam’s scalp and a little, half-hearted whine crawled up from somewhere in the hunter’s chest. From the tingles of pleasure in his own hair, that hadn’t been a protest, but Sam still seemed way too out of it to even voice a proper sentence.

Almost as an afterthought, the blonde archangel cleaned up the mess of their seed between them then shifted off Sam’s body to the side. The big man huffed, threw an arm across Lucifer’s chest and far shoulder, snuggled his torso right up against the archangel’s and buried half his face in the piece of pillow beside Satan’s head. Lucifer couldn’t sleep, just like Sam couldn’t fly; it was a whole other deal than being knocked out , as sleep and dreams were specific to creatures with souls. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t lie next to Sam and let the human hold him while he slept. A smile curved Lucifer’s wide-bowed lips. This should make for an interesting morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting toasty my friends! RIP the Slow Burn. Any predictions on the morning after? :P I'd love to hear what you thought of the chapter either way! n.n Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments, they make my day and make me happy when I'm down - you're the best! ヽ(▽ ｀)ノﾜｰｲ♪ヽ(´▽｀)ノﾜｰｲ♪ヽ( ´▽)ノ  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	8. In Which The French Arrive And Sam Makes Probably the Worst Apology Ever

Sam gave a happy little hum in the warm blur between sleep and consciousness. He felt like a warm noodle burrito – wrapped up, limp and very satisfied. For a moment, the comfort seeped through his skin, and he frowned a little as the sensation of his bare legs reached him – no, one had his jeans still tangled around it…then memories machetied his eyes open. To Sam’s surprise, he didn’t scream or catapult himself out of bed; just a vague ‘oh dear’ kind of crossed his mind, and then a throb of pain also crossed his mind as he closed his eyes again.  
“Ngh…” He shifted his arms, one of which slid down bare skin. Well at least he hadn’t woken up with his eyeball on Satan’s dick this time. It seemed Sam was just half naked and wrapped around what felt like a naked Satan too. Maybe if he just lay here, nobody would notice and he could just grow to a ripe old age and die without having to face up to the fact that last night had been one of the most exhilarated orgasms he’d ever had. But if Dean saw this, he would probably hurl Sam into the sun himself, so for the sake of his brother’s sanity, he decided to open his eyes again. 

Another stab of pain pulsed through his forehead and he squinted at the eternal blonde scruff of the archangel beside him. Lucifer seemed to have conjured a Sudoku game above them and flicked the arm not squished by half of Sam’s torso to input a number.  
“Morning.” Lucifer glanced over at him and bared his teeth in a grimace. “Wow your headache is terrible.”  
The Sudoku hand reached across and Sam gave a grumble of relief as the nausea and pain evaporated. Maybe there were _some_ very slightly good aspects of falling into drunken, unholy passion with the Devil.  
“Oh, and you’re a dreamboat yourself.” Sam glared and lifted his face out of the Sam-shaped imprint on the pillow. The whole room stunk of whiskey and, underneath, the musk of two men who’d had a very fun time with said whiskey. Dean was going to pulverise him into mince, fry him and then eat his sorry burger ass with both emotional relish and pickled relish. “I’m gonna go drown myself in the toilet now, so see you in Hell.”  
  
He, with grudging reluctance, slid out of bed and Lucifer sat up with raised eyebrows. Sam tried not to let his eyes linger on the soft smatter of gold hair over the Devil’s pecs or the dip where the muscle of his shoulder curved out; just because he thought the archangel was maybe kind of sexy didn’t mean he had to admit it.  
“You crawled into my lap, Sam, what do you expect?” Lucifer, the Lord of Being Heinous and Annoyingly Attractive, shrugged with an innocent expression. True, he actually was innocent, but that’s why he wasn’t getting The Slap.  
“I was drunk!” Sam scowled and flicked his gaze across at his brother’s sleeping shoulders. How Dean had managed to sleep through his loud, intoxicated noises of pleasure, Sam had no idea. He squinted. Hadn’t the windows exploded at one point?  
“And by proxy, so was I, Sam.” Lucifer sighed and picked up a newspaper on top of the set of drawers and to Sam’s utter chagrin conjured a pair of square, blue-framed glasses. For fuck’s sake. He could almost hear the titter of Lucifer’s 300,000th part that had haunted him through his unexpected return to 12th Grade. “And you miiight want to put on some pants.”

It took a second for Sam to realize his dick was out, sent Satan a bitchface, then picked up his jeans – or what was left of them. The front had been shredded into ribbons, and a pulse of heat twitched down to his cock as he remembered just how breathless the roughness had made him. God fucking damn it.  
“Yeah, and how do you expect me to do that?” He held up the denim that looked like a rabid tiger had been at it and mentally slapped himself as the thought to call Lucifer ‘tiger’ danced wild tango across his brain. Satan just shot him a warm smile, flicked his finger and used his almighty archangelic powers to knit them back into one piece.  
“It’s a shame, Sam. You’d suit punk-rock.” Lucifer conjured a pen and scribbled something into the column of the newspaper crossword.  
“Yeah, well when you’re wearing my ass, you can play dress up, and when I say ‘when’ I mean never.” Sam huffed, picked up a clean shirt and underwear and marched into the bathroom to change. He pretended not to hear the chuckle that farewelled his bare ass out the room.

 

Dean rolled over and rubbed his eyes. Maybe today would be a calm, nice, drama-free day where he didn’t have to roofie his brother and malice-chuck Lucifer into a bathroom. Ugh. He kind of didn’t want to admit that he’d enjoyed Gary’s company more than Sam’s…Why couldn’t Sam look up to him like that? Or like what he liked, or shun their Satanic companion like he should be doing. Instead… Dean looked over to his brother’s bed and just about had a hernia as he saw Lucifer, shirtless and…  
“Are those hickeys?” Dean blurted out but noted with a relieved sigh that Sam was not in his previous face-to-crotch position, but doing something in the bathroom.  
“Yep.” Lucifer didn’t even look up from his crossword, and filled in another column. A pair of glasses sat on his nose and Dean could feel that today was going to be one of those days where nothing made fucking sense. Angels didn’t need glasses. Lucifer didn’t need to be shirtless in Sam’s bed.  
“Who the hell gave you hickeys?” Dean’s eyes slid to the bathroom and then around the room for some kind of demonic whore this asshole might have dragged Sam off to pick up. Lucifer shot him a very cold expression, but that was fair after being drugged and bodily tossed in a skody motel bathroom.  
“I’m the Devil and you’re surprised I get hickeys now and again?” He turned back to the newspaper, but Dean scowled. Now Sam was back in the building, he didn’t have to worry about being shish kebabed by a vengeful archangel.  
“Why are you shirtless and in Sam’s bed?” Dean growled and tried not to consider all the options that might have led to this scenario.  
“Because I want to be.” The Devil seemed to be extra stubborn this morning and Dean considered how much a projectile bedside lamp might change that. But Sam wouldn’t thank him, so he shot another glare at Satan, who ignored him. Then the heavy tang of whiskey in the air caught at his nose, with an undertone of something less innocent.  
“Did you guys get drunk?” No, Sammy, no, you weren’t _that_ stupid. Dean didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or throw either himself or his dumbass brother out the window. “Because it smells like whiskey and - ”

At that moment Sam strode out the bathroom and Satan shot his brother a perky little smile. Sam’s jaw tensed, but he just turned to shove some clothes in his duffel bag. Dean choked as he caught the sight of teeth marks all down Sam’s throat.  
“Sam, what the fuck?” He charged out of bed and grabbed Sam’s gratuitous bicep like a frickin door handle. “Did he do this to you? Did he – “  
Fury boiled behind Dean’s eyes as the thought that Lucifer had forced Sam into bed while Dean had lay helpless asleep roared across his mind. He’d gut the bastard. But Lucifer didn’t seem phased by his murder glare, and put a thoughtful finger up to his lips.  
“Now, if you really think about Dean, it wasn’t me who put those there.”  
“Shut the hell up!” Dean snarled and turned back to his brother, who rolled his eyes at the bickering, then gave a sigh and dropped his shoulders.  
“Can we talk about this on the road after coffee and breakfast?” As if to punctuate the sentence, Sam’s stomach growled and a take-away coffee and a bagel appeared on the table beside them. Dean didn’t know what was weirder – the fact that his brother might have had sex with Satan or the fact that the Devil made Sam breakfast. Lucifer shot Sam a warm wink, and to Dean’s surprise, Sam just sighed and picked up the coffee.  
“Mm, that’s actually pretty good.” Sam frowned at the cup, which Dean noted was labelled ‘MorningStarBucks’, and the older Winchester stared at his brother in disbelief.  
“Seriously? _Seriously?_ ” He threw a hand up and just marched out the door before his brain actually exploded from anger. Dean was halfway to the motel carpark before he realized he was still in just his boxers and had no shoes.

 

“Ok, so seriously, what the fuck Sam?” Dean was now clothed, but still pissed as they headed down some damn highway away from the disaster of the last few days. The giant idiot he called a brother ran a tired hand through his hair. Yeah, tired because it sounded like he’d spent half the night with Satan’s dick in his ass.  
“Look, I know you and Lucifer don’t like each other, but it wasn’t his fault.” His brother sighed and Dean didn’t see how Sam thought that was any better. “We got drunk, I got carried away…”  
“You got so drunk you _slept with the fucking Devil?_ ” Dean spat and smacked the steering wheel, then rubbed his baby in apology. It wasn’t her fault his brother was a moron.  
“Sort of. Not really?” Sam frowned as if uncertain. How could you be grey about that!? “Maybe a little, it was more like… I can go into detail if you like.”  
  
Dean gaped at his brother and his brain sparked at just how blasé Sam was about this. It wasn’t some random one night stand with a rash-covered gas-station checkout chick that you’d regret for a week or two after. This was _Satan._  
“First the cat-chick, then you screwed a werewolf, a freakin demon and now – “ The older Winchester tossed up a hand and expected Sam’s usual apologetic puppy-eyes, but his brother just shrugged and Dean’s neck just about snapped as he whipped his head to look at his brother’s kind of weary look.  
“Maybe I have a type.”  
“Sam!” Dean burst out in exasperation, then noticed a glitch in the pattern. “And since when have you been into dudes?”  
Now came the wide-eyed shrug.  
“I just never considered it, that’s all.” Sam’s face broke out into a grin, and Dean wondered if the angels would just let them die if he drove them into the sweet arms of this oncoming 18-wheeler. “I dunno, he’s kinda cute and can do this thing with his tongue – “  
_“Sam!”_  
Above them, Lucifer had to land on the Impala’s roof as Satanic tears rolled down his cheeks from laughter.

***

“Are you sure you wanna pull in for lunch? Or is Lucifer gonna play cafeteria lady again?”  
Sam wasn’t sure whether the image of the Devil in a ( _totally not forget-me-not blue_ ) apron and heels came from his own imagination or the inappropriate 300,000th of Lucifer his brain was connected to, but he snapped out of it to answer his brother.  
“Dean, come on.” He rolled his eyes. Sam had even been generous and let Dean have his mullet rock at full blast for their adventure to find a café in which to plan a Pry Sam And Satan’s Loving Relationship Apart With A Crowbar strategy. Ok, maybe he hadn’t been paying attention and had given in to some slight sin which involved Lucifer and flying, but he got Good Brother points anyway, didn’t he?

They pulled into somewhere that advertised gratuitous amounts of wedges, and as usual, Lucifer vanished to go get a tan on the roof. But while Dean was being an indecisive grease-hoe at the counter, Sam found a window-side table and sighed. He’d kinda been a bitch to Satan this morning, and he tried to tell himself that that the Devil was only being nice to him because he wanted to wear Sam’s skin like a prom dress, but he knew how drunk they’d been last night. Some of the things Lucifer had said hadn’t quite fitted up to that. A trickle of heat coiled down Sam’s taught stomach as his memory provided Lucifer’s gruff voice and hot, whiskey tinged breath.  
_“You pretty little thing.”_  
Now he thought on it, it sounded like a vast, ancient creature that liked very much what it had writhing underneath it. Jesus. Sam ran a hand across his face, tried to pull his mind out of the gratuitous writhing and back to the post-coital-bitch apology.  
“Lucifer?” He looked around, and after a moment the archangel appeared in the chair next to him.  
“Sam.” Those wide-bowed lips fell into an easy, warm smile, and Sam pushed aside more thoughts of writhing to get back on track.  
“I know by all rights I should be a complete dick to you,” He began and was one hundred percent sure that apologies weren’t really meant to start like that. “But you were right; it wasn’t your fault. We were both drunk and this morning I was a bitch about it.”  
Before Satan could reply, he held up a finger. “This does _not_ mean I am by any definition Apocalypse inclined though. And you’re still a tyrannical, child-murdering bastard…but sorry I guess.”

Sam sighed and looked down, then looked back up at the archangel. Yeah, Dean would chuck a wobbly about how he never owed Satan an apology, no matter what he did… but Lucifer generally tended to be honest. So why shouldn’t Sam be generally honest as well?  
Lucifer had his eyebrows raised, but he didn’t look pissed. More amazed than anything else.  
“I feel like I was insulted more than apologized to in that apology, but there’s no need. I understand it’s not an easy situation.” Lucifer shot him an age-old smile that scared Sam with its empathy as much as it comforted him. “Although if you get yourself stabbed, prepare to spend your life savings on flowers and fine wine.”  
The bright way Lucifer delivered that had Sam stop in shock for a moment, then he burst out laughing.  
“Oh, what, so the Satanists have been getting it wrong all this time?” Sam grinned despite himself, and tried not to acknowledge how carefree he felt in Satan’s presence. “The way to placate His Satanic Majesty is through a good Merlot and roses?”  
“Mm, I could think of a few better ways you could placate ‘His Satanic Majesty’…” Lucifer smirked and shot him such good bedroom eyes that Sam forgot to breathe for a moment. Well shit. He’d walked right into that one. But if they were gonna play this game, why should Satan have all the fun?  
“At least buy me dinner first.” Sam raised his sassy little eyebrows and hoped Dean wasn’t in earshot. He’d get angsted-at for a month if his brother heard this.  
“I think I can swing that.” Lucifer’s eyes twinkled; Sam’d walked straight into the Devil pretty much asking him out on a date too. What the fuck. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.  
“Some evil Satanic Overlord you are.” Sam huffed and looked away in a very lame attempt to cover up how he wasn’t all that adverse to the idea, so long as Lucifer wore that fucking troublesome red tie. Neither was his dick, it seemed. For fuck’s sake. Sam shifted his legs into a more comfortable angle in the most subtle way possible, but Lucifer with his Sin Senses could probably detect it anyway.  
But Satan said nothing about Sam’s fairly obvious boner; just rested his elbows on the table and perched his chin on the backs of his interlaced hands.  
“What can I say, you bring out the best in me.” The archangel shot him a wink and Sam tried not to think about how endearing that was.

Dean turned back from finally having decided what to eat, to see Sam and Lucifer looking into each other’s eyes like a lovestruck couple on a first date. Then Sam said something and Lucifer put on a mock expression of offense which seemed to make Sam snigger in the way he did when he couldn’t stop himself laughing. What could Dean do against that? This whole thing seemed to have gone to pot. Sam’s job was to keep the Devil in check, not become fuck buddies with Satan and weave friendship bracelets on the side. How was Sam so – so unconcerned about this blatant unholiness?  
“Dean? Dean Winchester? Are you Dean?” A thick, somewhat blunt French accent turned Dean’s head. People who knew his name were either cops, demons, angels or old lovers, and any of those three were equally as likely to try and kick his ass. Dean tensed his muscles, ready for a fight, and turned to the woman who had hailed him and found empty air. He had a moment of brief confusion and French ghost anxiety, and then he looked down. So this is what Sam must feel like 90% of the time.  
“My name is Mimi De Plonq.” The woman couldn’t have even reached 5ft, but had what seemed like an eternal glare and a body like a brick. Hell, she was almost small enough to be a brick. But, y’know, Dean was game for just about any lady (unless they were _demonic_ Sammy) so he relaxed into his usual flirt face.  
“Zis is my ‘usband Patrique De Plonq.” Oh. Oh well then.

An only slightly taller man with a great, bushy moustache and a jolly air that made Dean squint from Gabriel-suspicion offered a hand.  
“Pleasure!” Patrique beamed and seemed like the sunshine to Mimi’s thundercloud of tiny rage.  
“Yeah.” Dean had no idea what this was, but he took the hand anyway, half prepared for Moustachio here to yank him in for a rib-shank.  
“You are hunters. We are hunters.” Mimi glared, but it seemed that was her natural expression. “You will ‘elp us.”  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second.” Dean held up his hands and his eyebrows just about took flight. Fair, Mimi looked like she would punch man, punch a werewolf, punch a bee, punch herself, she didn’t care, but Patrique seemed more of the rustic café owner than anything else. “You’re hunters?”  
“Are you deaf as well as freakishly tall?” Mimi scowled even deeper if that was possible, and Patrique just patted her dense shoulder. Whoo boy, wait till she met Sam.  
“We’ve been ‘aving a bit of a vampire problem, and the hunters helping us, well, passed away during the investigation.” Patrique gave a double-chinned grimace if sorrow.  
“You can’t take care of a couple of vamps?” Dean raised an eyebrow, then drew his head back at the pure French rage that poured of Mimi.  
“Zees are not just vampires! This is a vampire crime ring! They have been turning up to fifty people a month and sending them out across the world! We must take them down, you blind fool!” She waved her hands with such vehemence that Dean felt like a fly who’d had a very close encounter with a flyswatter. 

Patrique just gave a solemn nod, and Dean just about rolled his eyes in frustration.  
If they didn’t solve the Satan-Sam situation soon, the pair might get married, buy an apartment and start the Apocalypse together. But this sounded like serious shit.  
“Fine. My brother and his…friend are over there, so pull up a chair.” The older Winchester sent a mutinous look to where Sam had received his salad and was probably going to get Lucifer to feed it to him as they held hands under the table. Ugh. He had got to the point where he might just lightly maim the pair of them. Dean wished right down to his claimed soul that Cas would suddenly pop up, but with Lucifer blocking the prayers and calls Dean might make, he was on his own. But the world worked in mysterious ways, and Castiel was an enigma wrapped up in man meat wrapped up in homoerotic sexual tension wrapped up in a trenchcoat, so Dean may have given up hope a little too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these assholes, I love all of them, and soon we're getting trenchcoat asshole = +10 fun. Also the butterfly effect is working its magic ehehe. As always, I would love to hear what you thought of the chapter! You guys are amazing, and half the fun of putting up a chapter is hearing what you guys think :D ᴬᶫˢᵒ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ ᴬᶫᶫᵒ ᴬᶫᶫᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵍᶰᶦᶻᵉ ᴹᶦᵐᶦ ᵃᶰᵈ ᴾᵃᵗʳᶦᑫᵘᵉ shhh. Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed it and stay awesome everybody!  
> ヽ༼ ♥ ل͜ ♥ ༽ﾉ  
> Edit: Because of PlatonicRabbit's enthusiastic comment, I made MorningStarBucks coffee cups. Check 'em out [ here! ](http://www.redbubble.com/people/dur-baneth/works/23208274-lucifers-coffee?asc=u&p=mug&rel=carousel&style=standard)  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	9. In Which Castiel Knows Lucifer All Too Well And Sam Decides Sleep Is Better Than Dealing With Everyone's Shit

Dean looked around the Five-Star Luxury Suite with a touch of trepidation. First of all he didn’t think he’d ever been in a hotel so clean and second of all this was all courtesy of the Devil. The smarmy bastard had given Mimi and Patrique the hotel card and room numbers before Sam could stab himself in the face with a fork, and Mimi, being the blunt, tiny, angry creature she was, had upped and left before they’d had time to change it. Yeah, Dean had tried to argue out of it – he didn’t want to owe Satan anything – but Sam had been adamant that it was just a hotel and couldn’t do much harm. Couldn’t do much harm? Then why had Satan booked them separate rooms? Dean had a very, very angry suspicion as to why that might be, but chucked his duffel back on the designer table with a sigh.  
It had taken till about midnight to reach the city Mimi and Patrique swore was Vampire Mafia central (they’d gone quite a distance out of their way to find backup) and when Dean closed his eyes it was just tarmac and centre lines to the sound of his own internal screaming.

_Fwud fwud._

Wings? Unless Lucifer had come to give him a housewarming party, it had to be Cas. But when Dean turned around, he only found an angel-shaped hole in his heart.  
“Hello Dean.” Cas’s voice grated about a millimetre from his ear, so close behind him that he could feel the angel’s breath. Dean would never admit it but he screamed like a 14-yr-old anime girl. The hunter spun around, eyes wide, and found himself pretty much nose to nose with the black-haired angel. Cas did not blink. Cas seemed very satisfied with this proximity.  
“Personal space, Cas! We had this conversation!” Dean backed off a little and tried not to get lost in the languid twin pools of Castiel’s eyes because he was a very straight man and very straight men didn’t do that. Needless to say, he got lost in those languid pools nigh immediately.  
“I deemed it inappropriate and erased it from my memory, but if you want to waste precious time and teach me such unnecessary things again, by all means go ahead.” Whether Cas was joking or not, or whether Dean needed some holy water for that angelic burn, he wasn’t sure, so took option three and kept staring into Cas’s eyes.  
“H-how are you even here, how’d you know where we were?” Dean stammered and tried not to notice just how clean and fine-featured the angel’s skinsuit was.  
“I persuaded Bobby to track your GPS.” How the angel had ‘persuaded’ Bobby Cas didn’t elaborate on, and Dean wondered if the old fella was mentally scarred for life or possibly in a drunken heap on the sofa. Who really knew with Cas? “I leave you two alone for a week or two and come back to find you harbouring The Serpent where his wicked tongue may lend itself to Sam?!”

Dean was fairly sure there were other ways Cas could have phrased that, but either the angel was oblivious or he knew his shit. Because from what his little brother had said, that wicked tongue had already lent itself to Sam in one way or another.  
“I know Cas.” Dean sighed, and wasn’t sure whether Lucifer would Force-strangle him if he spilled the beans on their situation. “I’m afraid that this might lead to Sam saying yes.”  
“You’re more afraid that Sam will become Satan’s whore.” Cas said with absolutely no chill and earned a shocked silence. Whelp, it looked like Lucifer would have to go ahead and Darth Vader his ass, because yeah, Cas had just read his damn mind about this whole thing.  
“Wow Cas.” Dean found his voice again, and hadn’t realized that he had been nose to nose with the angel for a few minutes now. “Don’t sugar coat it.”  
“Why would I coat Sam or Lucifer in sugar?” Cas squinted. “Or do you… not want me to coat you in sugar?”  
The mental image of Cas tossing sugar like fresh dollar bills on to his naked torso while Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me played in the background swam across his head for a second, but Dean put it down to stress-induced insanity and didn’t have his impending a sexuality crisis quite yet.  
“What? No, Cas just…” Dean struggled and would have pinched the bridge of his nose, but there wasn’t enough room between his and Cas’s faces for his hand. Today had been a long day, although Cas might help him survive tomorrow without pimpslapping his brother and by proxy a very violent archangel.  
“They _are_ literally made for each other.” Cas offered as thought that was some kind of helpful statement, and Dean pulled a face.  
“Well I’m not kissing Michael.” Especially since the only face Michael had worn was that of Dean’s father, and even though he’d seen his mother kiss her father and had been called his brother’s boyfriend on numerous occasions, that was one familial boundary that seemed a little bit too far.  
“No, I wouldn’t allow that.” Cas straightened and arched his head up a little bit. The older Winchester dipped his eyebrows in confusion and Cas broke his unending stare to narrow his eyes just a little. 

The silence stretched on just long enough for Dean to sneak a cheeky glance at the angel’s lips before he remembered what he wanted to ask.  
“Er, anyway…is there anything you can do about this?” Dean noted Cas dropped his eyes to look at Dean’s lips too. Then there was a shift of metal on material and an angel blade slid into Castiel’s hand.  
“Whoa, wait, what’s the plan with that?” The hunter looked from the blade to the blank expression of Castiel with concern. This conversation didn’t need the addition of a stab wound as far as Dean knew.  
“I’m going to cut you some flowers, Dean.”  
“Really?”  
“Unless Lucifer has transformed Sam’s neck into flower stalk, then no.” Cas hefted his weapon and Dean really wished he hadn’t instructed Cas on the art of sarcasm – a conversation that, it seemed, Cas believed to be both appropriate and useful, and not worthy of deletion.  
“Dude chill. We are not killing Sam.” Dean raised a warning finger – first Sam was on the suicide train and now Cas wanted to deal his little brother a holy neck shank.

Cas wore an expression of vague, distracted disappointment, but before he could do something rash, a voice of Satanic reason interrupted.  
“Yes, I wouldn’t try that if I were you, brother.” Lucifer leaned against the far wall, probably to disguise the fact he had to hug it unless he wanted to either bring sleeping beauty Sam to the party or give them both magical, excruciating period cramps. “In fact, unless your mind has changed from our last little meeting, I should destroy you.”  
Lucifer put a thoughtful finger up to his lips, but Dean didn’t find himself draped in Cas’s guts quite yet. The smaller angel met Satan’s eyes with a respectable kind of bravery – c’mon, Lucifer must be the bedtime story told in Angel Camp to frighten cherubs, and here he was in the flesh (of some poor sap who Dean kinda thought looked like a house-husband).  
“I will not service you, Lucifer, so kill me.” Castiel had already been exploded by an archangel before. He knew the drill and kind of just wondered whether his blood-goo would explode hard enough to touch the high ceiling.  
“Mmm, I would, I would, but y’see, even though Sam heard that little discussion about your plans to kill _him_ , he doesn’t want you dead.” Meaning Sam had probably dangled himself over a live plug socket to save Castiel’s life, but it was nice to know his little brother was still on their side.  
  
“You really are Sam’s little bitch, aren’t you?” Dean growled and Cas shot him that _what the frick frack diddily dack patty wack snick snack crack pack slack mack quarterback crackerjack biofeedback backtrack thumbtack sidetrack tic-tac Cadillac do you think you’re doing_ kind of expression that he’d slapped on Dean in front of Raphael too.  
“Ooh, I taste jealousy. But then again, you’ve never been good at sharing your brother, have you?” Lucifer smirked and looked between the pair of them.  
“This is not _sharing._ ” Dean snarled, and started forward. Cas kind of shuffled after him as though he knew his human was off to do something stupid, so needed a hoe to restrain him if necessary. “You have no right or reason to be with him other than whatever the hell hoodoo has you connected. And if I catch you if Sam’s bed again, I will punch the both of you in the face.”  
“Ooh, I think you’re giving Castiel the tingles.” Lucifer shot a wink at his little brother. Cas side-eyed Dean. Dean side-eyed Cas. Cas denied nothing, so they both just had awkward eye contact and Dean threw up his hands to cover up the tension with a scowl.  
“I’m gonna drink myself to sleep.” Dean turned his back on both the angels and went for the bottle of panic-whiskey in his duffel back. What else could he do?

Castiel watched his denim-clad ass retreat into the bedroom and tossed up between going to stare at Dean and the mark he’d accidentally, (so accidentally, hahaha he would never do that on purpose) etched into Dean’s soul or have more of a chat with the Fallen One, oh He, Temptation From Below.  
“How did you retain your powers when you fell?” Castiel decided to go with the latter. He could spend the rest of the night staring at Dean’s soul; unless Lucifer had plans to either hurl Dean into another location or dimension, it wasn’t going anywhere, and the archangel wouldn’t let Castiel fly out, so he wasn’t going anywhere either.  
“What will you do for me if I tell you?” Lucifer crossed his arms and let low-lidded eyes rest on him. Castiel wondered whether the archangel actively tried to make his every sentence full of temptation, sin or inappropriateness, or whether it came with natural ease.  
“I will do nothing for you.” Castiel sighed in frustration. Maybe he should follow Dean’s plan and consume heinous amounts of alcohol just for something to do, but Lucifer probably wouldn’t let him fly out, unhinge his huge, terrifying angelic jaws and devour a liquor store. Damn.  
“Y’know, that’s a real shame, brother.” Lucifer picked at his fingernails, then looked back up at him. “I – “  
The archangel broke off with a gasp, his eyes flew wide, and the trenchcoated saviour found himself face to face with a blank wall. What. Castiel tried to scan Sam’s room for danger or sin or both, but only found a bubble of archangel power and his own failure. Oh well. Cas sort of stared at the wall for another moment, at a loss of what to do. Dean. Dean would help. He should go and stand near Dean. That always felt helpful in some way. So Castiel headed off toward the sound of heavy drinking in the next room and tried to ignore the whisper of his own temptation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I'm sorry this chapter is so short! It was either make this chapter short or combine it with the next chapter and make the whole thing over 8,000 words long, and that didn't feel right so, yeah :/ Anyhoo, Cas has been chucked in the mix! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'd love to hear what you thought of it. It's been so awesome, especially with the last chapter, hearing your fav parts and talking with y'all...you guys are the best! ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆  
> P.S: If you have any more extra questions about writing or my fanfics, hit me up on [tumblr!](http://swaglexander-the-great.tumblr.com) As a rule, I generally don't like to answer Chat messages, so I'm all about Asks c: Also I go on-off tumblr for sometimes months, so don't be sad if your question doesn't get answered immediately! I'm just procrastinating lol. For most things though, I'd still prefer them on Archive, because I just find it easier to answer tbh ¯\\(ツ)/¯ What can I say, I'm weird. Anyhoo, stay awesome my homies!  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	10. In Which Oh God There Is So Much Smut There Wasn't Meant To Be This Much How Did This Happen

Dust scoured Sam’s tongue into sandpaper as rough as the rocks he ran between. The sun’s heat bounced off their sides, magnified into a shimmer as he scrambled into a shallow canyon. Shouts of the men he ran from echoed through the maze of arid red stone and sand, and Sam glanced around for something, anything that might save him. There were no clouds, and in the middle of the day, few shadows to hide from both the heat and his pursuers, but perhaps he could lose them, perhaps…  
The crack of a gun shattered the air and Sam pressed himself back as pain lanced down his chest; the bullet only grazed him, but now blood mingled with sweat on his skin and would drip his clear trail wherever he went. Shit. The tall man pressed his hand against the wound and dove into a clear path out of the canyon he’d been in and into another, wider clearing in this labyrinth of red stone. There were hoof beats and shouts of hunters onto their quarry, but if he just kept moving, if he circled back and got them turned around and confused, Sam might survive this one.  
  
Then a shadow blotted out the sun, and the younger Winchester swallowed as he took in the huge white charger in front of him. He’d seen that horse before, he knew that horse…  
“Need a hand, cowboy?” The rugged, blonde man didn’t shoot Sam in the face, but pulled down his dust kerchief and held out a hand. The younger Winchester was in no position to reject help, and a wash of relief burst through him. Whoever this man was, he knew, he just knew somehow he could trust him. So Sam took the hand and scrambled up into the saddle behind the cowboy. The rider clicked at his horse and the great beast jumped into action with such suddenness that Sam, without the anchor of stirrups, had to fling his arms around the other man to stop himself pitching off. Whether it was adrenaline or the heat or something, but wherever his body touched the blonde man’s it seemed so sensitive, too sensitive, and Sam’s breath huffed too hot and fast for his small excursion as they charged through the maze of rocks. Oh God. The heat pulsed into his groin and throbbed his cock into an eager semi against his saviour’s ass. He tried to shuffle back, retain some dignity, but the slope of the saddle was too steep to allow much at all, and fire burned up Sam’s cheeks. He hadn’t even noticed they’d turned away from the desert stones and now the white horse trotted into the dark maw of a cave.

Moisture dripped, and soon the clip of hooves turned to splashes in an underground stream. Sam swallowed and tried to reign in his breath before it echoed off the walls and made an even worse situation of what was already there. But the rider either hadn’t noticed or didn’t mind one bit. Should he let go of the man’s waist and try to hang on to the saddle instead, or would that be far too obvious about…how uncomfortable he was?  
“Where are we going?” Sam murmured and hated the darkness. Now that he couldn’t see, he could feel more, and shit…his rescuer’s body was firm and warm against his thighs and hands, and he smelled of leather, dust, ice and pine smoke. Every inch where they touched buzzed with pleasure, and the nerve endings in his nipples and cock pinged heat and shivers between his chest and stomach when they brushed the other man’s clothing. Part of Sam just wanted to grab the hips in front of him and grind himself to completion against that ass, but it didn’t seem like spectacular manners.  
“Somewhere safe.” That voice…he’d heard that voice before, but Sam lost all focus when the blonde rider leaned back a little and moulded his body against Sam’s front. Fuck. There was no way he couldn’t feel the full-blown erection that swelled the crotch of Sam’s breeches. But he seemed fine with it, receptive in fact…

A line of light cut through the gloom, and behind it stretched a wide open space hedged in by cliffs that reached up high into the sky. Stunted trees bristled out of the stone, and a glassy lagoon scooped out the centre like the iris in an eye. Red sand dusted the edges of it, while a small stream trickled down toward them. Even though the midday sun poured in, it didn’t feel so hot here, just a comfortable warm; with the circle of cliffs, it must only get the sun a few hours a day.  
“Come on, let’s have a look at that wound.” The blonde man slid off his horse, and Sam just about moaned at the sudden movement against his cock which ached with desperation. He could hardly feel the cut over his arousal, but he vaulted to the ground anyway. His saviour motioned at the sand, and Sam lowered himself onto it as he caught those pale blue eyes. He knew those eyes from _somewhere…_  
“Now let me have a look.” The man murmured, knelt beside him and slid the buttons out of their catches. Sam couldn’t help it. He could help the way he splayed his legs out a little more than necessary, couldn’t help how he dug his fingers into the soft warm sand as even the gentle movement of fabric on his skin sent bolts of excitement down to his groin, he couldn’t help the roughness of his breath as he followed the trail of bare skin those fingers left in their wake. As soon as the material slipped off his arms, Sam leaned back on his elbows so that the stranger would have to lower himself even further to reach him. The smirk that curved up the other man’s lips sent a visible quiver of excitement straight down Sam’s stomach, and the younger Winchester lifted sultry, half-closed eyes to meet forget-me-not blue ones. 

Before he could persuade himself otherwise, Sam lifted a large, tanned hand upwards to cup the man’s face, then dragged him forwards into a kiss. Heat blossomed over his cheeks and rushed down his neck as their lips met, and the blonde rider didn’t pull away or berate him; quite the opposite in fact. Confident lips pushed against his, and a hot tongue thrust Sam’s receptive mouth open as he tangled fingers into the other man’s shirt. Sam devoured the heat of the stranger’s mouth, the taste of his tongue, the scent of their sweat and leather with eager glee as his saviour’s strong lips carved slow, hot lines against his, like he claimed Sam for his own with just a kiss. Then rough fingers pressed under the waistband of the younger Winchester’s breeches.  
“Mmm!” Sam hummed with enthusiasm into the kiss and arched his ass upwards so the man could slip them down around his thighs.  
“Oh, you pretty little creature.” The rider’s mouth broke away to tease the nerve-endings on the curve of Sam’s ear, while a hand wandered down his bare torso. Yes, fuck yes! Sam arched his neck back and shut his eyes in bliss as a high moan was drawn from his lips in the wake of those lips and the touch that promised release. He kicked off the tail end of his pants and sprawled naked on the warm sand as his hard, red cock dripped hot precome onto the taught skin of his lower stomach.  
  
The hand on his skin vanished and an unbidden whine of protest seeped from under Sam’s lips – he tipped up his hips with frustration in an attempt to entice the touch back. There was a shuffle of fabric, then Sam gave a groan of both relief and pleasure as the dense weight of the other man’s body settled between his spread thighs. Sam hooked his legs around those strong hips, and his breath lurched in anticipation as the throbbing, hard length of the stranger’s cock pressed along his virgin hole. Fuck, he wanted it, he wanted it so bad and he wanted it now.  
“Shh, shh, my gorgeous thing.” A firm hand squeezed up Sam’s left thigh, then lifted it by the crook of the knee so that his entrance was even more exposed, and the younger Winchester’s eyes snapped open again with an indulgent gasp. That pale blue gaze drank him in; a wide, barrel chest dusted with golden hair brushed Sam’s bronzed musculature and hot skin pressed all against the sensitive underside of his thighs in a sensation that Sam had never experienced before, but it had him choked with desire.  
“Fuck me. Fuck me _now_.” Sam moaned and arched back into the sand that trickled against his sides and thrummed heat into his back and shoulders. His lungs didn’t want to work, couldn’t work around the desperate urgency that welled up from his groin and lanced through his chest, and he _needed_ it sated. The man knelt back, and two calloused hands gripped his hips.  
“My pleasure.” 

A wild, loud gasp tore out of Sam’s throat, his head tossed back and his splayed legs jerked as a thick, hard rod of heat took him in one thrust. Oh God, he hadn’t – fuck!  
He was so full, and could feel the ripple of the other man’s muscles through the cock buried deep inside him as the blonde slid out a little, then pushed back into him with a stunted grunt of pleasure. Sam didn’t know what to do with himself; his muscles shook like jelly and he couldn’t breathe over the thickness inside him. The quick thrusts seemed to punch all the way up through his chest and send noises he couldn’t stop out his throat as the stranger’s cock fucked against a spot that made his eyes burst with silver specks and roll back with an intensity that Sam couldn’t control. He grappled a hand around his lover’s sweat-slick shoulders as the rider bent over him, and could only hang on until it was over.  
“Ah! Ahh!” Sam cried, and the world blurred around him, like he wasn’t really there, but his body pulsed with the delight of being fucked senseless into the sand; he writhed, helpless, around the cock that slammed bursts of pleasure into him with every sure snap of those hips. But his cries seemed to echo in an odd kind of way…a gush of heat swarmed through Sam’s entire body as it shook, but it wasn’t pressed into some rocky desert sand now. It was against sheets in a dark hotel room. Sam’s cock twitched and throbbed, crying for orgasm, and his clothes stuck to his skin with sweat, but neither of those were the most pressing problems right now. 

“Lucifer!” He bolted upright, snarled into the darkness and swallowed with rage. Just because he’d got drunk one time and kinda thought Lucifer was hot, didn’t mean the archangel could take advantage of him in his dreams! _“Lucifer!”_  
“You have quite the imagination Sammy.”  
All thoughts of bludgeoning himself with a glow-in-the-dark alarm clock dropped from Sam’s mind as the Devil appeared in a sprawled-out heap against the mirrored closet just to the right at the end of Sam’s bed. Red tinged his hollow cheeks, his eyes were lazy and unfocussed with pleasure, and saliva glistened on those slack, curved lips that the archangel didn’t seem to have the will to close properly. The way his legs fell etched out a very, very obvious bulge in the crotch of his jeans, and Sam swallowed as precome tricked down his angry, desperate cock. Well fuck.  
“Y…You mean that wasn’t you?” Sam huffed and peeled off his soaked shirt as his body throbbed with heat. Shit, what did he do now? A cold shower at, what, 4am? He really didn’t want to. What he really wanted was to finish what his subconscious had started.  
“ ’f course not. I’d ask you first.” Lucifer panted and shifted with apparent discomfort against the carpet. “And you’ve been having that dream for over six hours. I thought I was good at torture…”  
His glazed eyes crawled over to Sam, and the hunter wondered whether he looked just as debauched. “Classy though. Cowboys are hard to beat.”  
A smirk tried to creep onto Lucifer’s features again, and another flush shot through Sam as his cock twitched at the memory.  
“Shut up.” He sighed with hot cheeks and collapsed back onto his side, facing away from Satan. Another throb drew an unexpected groan from his lips, and Sam bit his lip with indecision. Fuck it. He’d writhed half-naked under Satan, so a bit of quiet self-stimulation really shouldn’t be weird. 

The tall hunter slid a hand down the front of his briefs and smothered a high noise in his other bicep at the promise of relieved pressure. He gave a slow, loose stroke and twisted just a little bit with a flick of his wrist as he reached the sensitive head.  
“Oh fuck, Sam.” A very hot gasp from just to the right of the end of Sam’s bed almost had him climax on the spot. Then a jolt of pain and intense pleasure shot from his nipple right through his chest and down his spine, and Sam flipped over with a yelp. Sultry blue eyes burned through the dim light from the end of the room and Sam’s spine arched without fucking permission as he noted Lucifer had removed his shirt.  
“Two can play at that game.” Lucifer bit his lip with a smug smile and lightly massaged the nub of an erect nipple with the pad of his fingers. A spasm of pleasure rippled through Sam’s pec and down his stomach and he gritted his teeth with chagrin. He could just leave it. He could flop over and ignore his boner, or order some champagne ice to dunk his dick in. But to be honest, it kinda just felt like postponing the inevitable. Lucifer, he would one day have to admit, was very, very sexy. And who knew how long it would take to get this spell lifted. Weeks? Months? Years? If he didn’t have sex or even jerk off for that long, he would probably crack, down a bottle of Jack, strip naked and beg Lucifer to fuck his brains out on a pool table in front of an entire pub-full of people. And that option seemed the least dignified compared to just a few sex games in a dark hotel bedroom at 4am.

So Sam shot the Devil a little defiant stare and gave his cock another stroke under the covers. Lucifer’s knee jerked up so one leg was straight and the other bent, his eyelids flickered and his slack mouth opened around a silent gasp.  
“Mmm, Sam, let me see you.” That tone was as close to begging as Sam could ever dare to hope, and it sent a heavy swirl of desire straight down his belly. Jesus. The covers twitched like Lucifer didn’t want to force him but felt like he needed a hint. Sam really didn’t need a hint. He pushed the penthouse suite sheets back and tossed his briefs off. The Devil’s languid gaze followed him, underpinned by a low groan of desire as Sam prowled forwards on all fours to the end of the bed, then sat up on wide-spread knees so the whole kit and caboodle was on display.  
Sam knew this was probably nine kinds of wrong, but the way the cooler air kissed his naked skin, the way Lucifer’s bare chest rose and fell faster with desire, the way Sam felt just so sexy under that gaze, like he could drive Lucifer wild without even a touch, made it at least three kinds of right. So what the hell.  
He shot the archangel a jaunty little grin and slid his hand up the slick, smooth surface of his own cock. Maybe Lucifer would just pounce on him and pound him hard into the mattress for being such a tease, but Sam could live with those kind of consequences.  
“Uhn, Sam…” Lucifer’s hand wrenched his own belt open and Sam watched with greedy, half-closed eyes as he dragged off his own jeans to put a stiff, purple-red erection on display. The knowledge that he’d caused that, that Sam had made one of the most powerful beings in creation a lust-mangled mess on the floor made the hunter choke around the moan his own hand induced. He gasped and threw his head back in a way he _knew_ looked hot at the sensation of rough fingers up his thighs, and then gave a high cry of surprise as his ass seemed to pulse with something slick and hard. Sam’s knees spread apart even further and his breath caught with a glottal noise in his throat at the thick stiffness that pushed into his – well, presumably Lucifer’s – body. 

Sam’s eyes snapped to the archangel; he couldn’t see past Lucifer’s bent knee as to what his lowered hand was doing, but he could guess. Indulgent teeth caught the swell of Satan’s bottom lip, lazy eyes watched Sam stroke himself and the gaze hit that sweet spot that led to things like Sam fucking some forensics lady in her office where just about anyone could walk in on them.  
“Lucif – unhh! “ Sam’s eyes flew wide and he had to catch himself on his spare hand as Satan’s toy buzzed into life. Shocks of impossible, deep pleasure shuddered up his thighs and his already-overstimulated cock jerked against his own hand. Shit!  
“You’ve – ah – never experimented with vibrators before, have you Sammy.” Lucifer’s smirk came across in his breathy voice, then dropped into an appreciative moan. But Sam was nothing if not defiant. Even though his cock ached from pressure and his vision blurred from the intense vibrations bang on his prostate, he was so not going to let Lucifer get the better of him. And although they were connected, Lucifer still hadn’t found his absolute favourite kink. The hunter arched back as the vibrator indirectly fucked him in a slow, fucking gorgeous motion, latched a rough hand into his own hair and yanked himself back upright as he matched Lucifer’s hot rhythm on his cock. A shout of pleasure left his lips at the rough, controlled sensation Sam loved so much but hardly ever received, and he heard the archangel give an indignant, loud gasp. Sam bit his lip, cheeks flushed at the way Lucifer’s head and eyes flew upward, and the Devil’s back curved with such violence that his bare ass lifted off the ground. So, of course, Sam gave another hard tug.  
“Shit Sam, that turns you on far too much.” Lucifer choked out and Sam gave another indulgent moan of pleasure as he rocked between the raw throbbing need in his cock, the zings of pleasure that shook his body from the incredible pulse in his ass and the delicious wild enjoyment that spurted down his chest at the pull on his hair. But everything was still slow and controlled enough to keep the impending orgasm at bay  
“I don’t – ah fuck – keep it this long just…just for looks.” Sam panted out and shot the Devil a smarmy little smirk. Mistake.

Lucifer bared his teeth as they both convulsed, then reached an arm out to something Sam couldn’t see but _holy shit_ could he feel, and a harsh yell ripped out of his throat before he had time to process it. Ecstatic tingles shattered down his back, more and more intense with every stroke, and he curled in on himself, yanked at his own hair as his body shook with such violence that he couldn’t even see properly. Oh God, oh God, oh God, Sam wanted to say, but only raw, animalistic noises tore from his lips as a kind of pleasure no human was ever meant to know ripped through him. Sam caught a glimpse of the Devil and heat plunged through him at the sight; Lucifer had slid down the wall and his hips rolled with the fluid skill of a porn star as he fucked them both on the vibrator, one hand still spread over thin air to the side. His teeth were clenched, but rough, harsh noises clawed out his throat anyway. Sam drank it all in, quickened the pace on his cock as he writhed between the insane pressure in his ass and the shockwaves of ecstasy that slammed through him from what he assumed were sensitive, aroused archangel wings.  
  
Then Lucifer’s hand clenched deep into his own feathers and the Devil screamed. He actually screamed; this calm, collected powerful being became something raw and undone and it smashed Sam into an orgasm so powerful that his body jerked him onto his back, thrashed to the side and shot his come so hard that it spattered up his neck, chest and wherever else it caught as he convulsed without any kind of control. Colours and flashes of white burst under his eyelids, and even though he’d spent his load, Sam arched upwards, fucked the air and moaned without restraint, unable to stop as residual pleasure thrummed through every nerve he possessed. Holy, holy fuck. Yeah, he definitely should not have done this. Because now what sexual experience could possibly live up to having two orgasms at the exact same time while being pleasured by the Lord of All Sin? Another burst of bliss convulsed down his shoulders to his hips, made his toes curl ,and Sam clung on to the bedsheets to ground him, to save him from the aftershocks of that insane orgasm.

They didn’t speak for a good five minutes afterwards, but even if he knew what to say, Sam didn’t know whether he’d be able to pull himself out of the afterglow and continuous ripples of pleasure down his back to do so. This was nuts. Absolutely fucking insane. Not to mention unfair. And satisfying. So, so satisfying. Much better than any kind of gratification he’d gotten from demon blood, although it was a bit of a grey area as to which was worse. Voyeuristic sex with the Devil or turning himself into the demon king? Neither seemed like particularly brilliant life decisions, but hey, they’d all survived so far.

Sam groaned and lolled his head to the side to see where Satan was. A cold Fall breeze swiped through the room, and it took a second for Sam to realize that both the glass screen door to the deck, the mirror and probably every other glass thing in the suite had been blown to shit.  
“Luciferrr,” He groaned and sighed in disgust as dried jizz tugged at his skin where it had spattered him. “Fix the fucking window.”  
Something shifted in the glass-heap just out of Sam’s line of vision, and the curtains fell flat again as the glass behind them was replaced. A tinkle also heralded the glass from the mirror’s flight back across the sliding closet doors. Then a very dazed, tousled Lucifer rested his forearms on the edge of Sam’s bed, and the hunter grinned at just how out of it he looked; well Sam’s subconscious had given him six hours of foreplay. Even for the Devil, that had to be some degree of mindblown.  
“I think I’m beginning to like this arrangement.” Satan mumbled and blinked in a very cute kind of way as his eyes tried to focus on Sam, but listed a little. Sam just stretched out a long arm, caught Lucifer’s wrist and gave a pathetic, half-hearted tug.  
“C’mere.” Sam hummed, and didn’t think he even had the energy to flop on to his side and face Lucifer directly. There was a shift of bare skin against the, like $1000 sheets, which Sam had probably Jackson Pollock decorated with semen. Well, whatever. They had Satan at their hotel, they were lucky it wasn’t entrails. Or chunks of baby or whatever. Then Lucifer nestled down beside him, and Sam sighed as gentle fingers carded through his hair.  
“Mmm, feels good.” The hunter threw all fucks to the wind and nuzzled his cheek into the curve of the Devil’s shoulder.  
“I know, my pretty.” There was humour in Lucifer’s voice as nice drizzles of pleasure tingled from Sam’s scalp down his spine. “I am definitely going to play with your hair more from now onwards.”  
“Hmm.” Sam smiled and slid an arm across that thick-muscled chest, too content to be a bitch about being pleasured by Satan. “I don’t suppose I can play with your wings?”  
A chuckle vibrated up Lucifer’s body. “Tempting offer, but you’d turn to ash.”  
“Damn.” Sam lifted his eyes as his limbs wallowed in languid heat. Lucifer caught his gaze, and a simmer of doubt bubbled in Sam’s stomach. What was this they had? Fuck buddies? It felt…more than that, closer. There was an understanding, there was laughter, there was attraction and there was acceptance of each other in a weird kind of way. But Sam would sooner chainsaw his own head off than admit he was in love with the Devil, a) because how did this need explaining, he was literally the Devil and b) because even though Lucifer had kinda said in a drunken haze that he wouldn’t mind spending eternity with Sam, this particular archangel was known for his hatred of humans. Not to mention this could all be one giant, convoluted ploy to get him to say yes. Ugh. Why did life have to be so hard?

But as Sam ruminated deep, philosophical issues, he didn’t notice Lucifer lift a hand up to his face. The hunter’s eyes flew wide as soft lips pressed against his and a warm hand cupped his jaw. It wasn’t like the kisses before, where they’d picked up the sticks for a game of tonsil hockey. This one gave Sam time to feel the coarse texture of Lucifer’s stubble under his lips, hear their mingled breath and the shift of their bodies as they reached out for one another, tasted each other’s skin. Sam turned on his side, and Lucifer met him in the middle; the younger Winchester hooked a lazy leg around Satan’s hip and sighed at the shift of his warm flesh against flesh. Lucifer’s hand slid from his jaw and curled around the muscle of his shoulders as the Devil caught Sam’s lip between slow, luxurious teeth. Their half-lidded eyes caught one another, and although Sam knew his dick thought this was all highly erotic (and despite its attempts, was still in the recovery position from his last orgasm), it was so comfortable too. There were no expectations between them, no pressure, no tension…just breathless touch. That hand slid down Sam’s back and gave his ass a gentle squeeze, and the hunter noted that a refractory period didn’t really seem to exist for archangels. Then those fingers slid down and Sam gave a gasp and pushed a slow tongue into Lucifer’s mouth as they brushed that sensitive ring of muscle.  
“Lucifer…” He moaned and somehow his dick picked up into a semi. Jesus, he hadn’t recovered that quick since he was a teenager.  
“Shh, shh, we don’t have to do anything.” Lucifer murmured against his lips. A bit fucking late now, Satan. Sam just coaxed that hot tongue into his mouth, but broke away with a chuckle as it split into a fork.  
“You like doing that don’t you.” He grinned, still sleepy, and then sucked in a hiss of breath as Lucifer’s finger traced around his entrance, suddenly slick with lube that the archangel must have conjured. With their faces only centimetres apart, Satan grinned and ran the double prongs over his top lip.  
“What can I say, sometimes stereotypes are fun.” He leaned forward, finger still on a warpath with Sam’s nerve-endings down under, and the taller man had to agree there.

He took that weird but oh so talented tongue back in his mouth and sucked the two prongs in a slow, hot rhythm as they swiped around the sensitive inside of his mouth. Then a loud ‘mmm’ of shock vibrated his lips as Lucifer’s finger sank into him, but there was no pain; Lucifer either cared or didn’t want to give himself a sore ass.  
“Is that ok, Sammy?” The Devil murmured and Sam nuzzled against that rough-shaven cheek as a shot of heat lanced up his stomach.  
“Yeah.” His breath hitched, as even one finger felt as though it filled him up, but he rocked on it, hungry for that new, deep pleasure of prostate stimulation.  
“Good. Mmm, you’re so pretty, Sam.” Lucifer hummed into his ear, and Sam dragged their bodies flush together with the hand around his lover’s shoulder. The archangel’s rock-hard erection nudged against his own, less energetic one, and they just moved with each other for a few moments in the company of their own breath until Sam was fully hard again, even though the rest of his body still seemed languid and relaxed. It was probably just as well, as another finger slid in beside the first, and a rough gasp left Sam’s throat as he hitched his leg higher on Lucifer’s side.  
“Shh, it’s ok.” Those curved lips caught his again, gentle but –  
“Unn!” Sam made a curious noise, and a little spasm shot up his body as those fingers circled over that spot. Prostate stimulation was weird; at first, it was like dull thrum deep down which didn’t seem like much until it built and boiled and suddenly you’d be panting, shaking and writhing without really knowing how you’d got here and how it had become so frickin desperate and good.  
“Right there, huh?” Lucifer panted and Sam pushed harder between the stiff heat in front of him and the digits in his ass. Of course Satan knew exactly where was good; he could feel it too. Sam’s throat let out half-hearted groan, but he didn’t have the energy to do much more than to hold on to Lucifer and draw heavy breaths by the archangel’s ear.

The Devil took his time; scissored his fingers, teased on and off Sam’s prostate, until the hunter’s skin shook and his muscles beaded with sweat, then filled him with another finger. Sam caught Lucifer’s lips again, tried to distract himself from the desperate build in his stomach and cock with the slow, sure movements of that strong tongue, but he couldn’t stop the shaky moan that resounded from deep in his chest or the way he buried his face in the archangel’s neck. Then a gentle hand tilted his shoulder; Sam’s breath hitched as he slid onto his back and Lucifer’s body sank between his splayed, limp legs. Those fingers eased out of him, and his entrance felt so open and sensitive that his thighs and ass spasmed against the firm, hot press of Lucifer’s skin. The Devil’s cock throbbed against his entrance, and the ghost of a whine tacked on the end of his breath as Sam reached up to smooth his hands along Lucifer’s sides with need.  
“I want to fuck you now.” The archangel’s breath whispered up his jaw, and Lucifer pulled back his head so his goddamn forget-me-not eyes met Sam’s. The hunter’s cock twitched, and he knew Satan could feel it pulse against his own member in eagerness.  
“I’m gonna be good to you Sammy, and I need to know that you want it.” Even though the words were soft, a hunger burned in those pale eyes. Yeah, Dean would probably kill him with a cocktail toothpick if he ever found out, but who said he ever had to find out? Besides, it wasn’t like Sam was marrying Satan. It was sex, which could be a good time and only mean a good time later. No deals, no promises, no nothing. Just pleasure between one dude and one fairly Satanic dude. Sam sighed in his head as he kinda called bullshit on himself. Yes, this was A Bad Ideaᵀᴹ. But it wasn’t like he was going to say capital Y Yes.  
“Oh no I definitely want it.” Sam shifted his hips as much as his sapped energy would allow and leaned up to kiss this regret in the making. “Just maybe not mention it to Dean.”  
“Not a word.” A wicked smirk spread over Lucifer’s face, and his body pushed off a little to get a better angle. 

Before Sam could respond, a large, calloused hand pressed over his mouth as the thick, sticky tip of the Devil’s cock pushed against his stretched ring of muscle. ‘Oh fuck!’ was what Sam wanted to cry, but it came out as a smothered ‘mmph!’ against Lucifer’s hand.  
“Mmm, that’s it my pretty little thing.” The smooth, hot voice in his ear, paired with the fact that he could only breathe through his nose, had Sam’s head in a spin, not to mention the way he could feel a tight squeeze around his own cock as well. But it was the searing hot, heavy intrusion into his body that shook his muscles and had more desperate, high noises push against Lucifer’s hand. He panted, and whined with the sensation, tried to moan, wriggled his body under Lucifer’s weight in an attempt for some relief but the Devil just kept a slow, steady rhythm until Sam’s ass shivered around the full, stiff length Lucifer had buried inside him. _Fuck!_ The hunter felt so filled that his throat choked and he tried to roll his hips, but something of the Satanic power persuasion held his body still, unable to move, as they lay connected. Then Lucifer’s other hand latched into Sam’s hair and tugged as he gave a soft thrust into the hunter’s body. Sam let his neck be arched by the pull and gave a shaky cry against Lucifer’s hand, tried to writhe, but Satan wouldn’t let him. Oh _God…_

A jolt of pleasure crackled through his still body and Sam began to think maybe he’d signed up for a little more than he’d bargained for.  
“Mmm!” Sweat slicked his muscles that quivered at the sensation of something so hot and hard inside part of him that both craved it and found it alien..  
“Good creature.” Lucifer nuzzled his ear, and thrust and pulled at his hair in an alternating rhythm again and again and again, controlled but somehow rough too; Sam knew his cock throbbed and leaked between their bodies, knew Satan’s hand was covered in his saliva as he couldn’t help how his mouth spasmed around the deep grunts and moans of pleasure he would have made. His whole lower body, from thighs to stomach quivered, hot and urgent, but he couldn’t relieve it, wasn’t allowed to move as that cock drove with slow, sharp pulses into him. Heat welled up from his lower belly, his balls tightened as another coil of delight swarmed down from an assertive tug in his hair, and Sam tried to warn his lover, tried to tell him by urgent, high noises that he was gonna come too soon, but Lucifer didn’t seem to care.  
“Yes, yes, fuck – “ Lucifer’s coarse growl sent a coil of desire straight down his chest, and the beat of those thrusts quickened as the archangel shook against the hunter’s sweat-slick skin. 

Breath huffed out of Sam’s nose too fast now, the world swam and his eyes rolled back in his head as Lucifer’s fingers made a harsh re-adjustment to their position, grasped against his scalp. The fact that he couldn’t be distracted by his own movement magnified everything Lucifer did; those hot, frantic lips on his throat, the way his hand spasmed over Sam’s mouth, the harsh grunts and gasps that tore out of the archangel as he sent ripples through Sam’s body with the force of his deep thrusts that rubbed over Sam’s prostate without mercy… it was all too much. A vicious shot of heat boiled up Sam’s cock and the restraint on his body lifted as Lucifer made a low, guttural noise, yanked his hair back hard and tensed on top of him, inside him. Sam came, and he came _hard._ The hunter gave a muffled scream under those fingers, his splayed legs kicked and jerked, and he dragged scratches into both of their backs, unable to even writhe properly under the weight of the other man. Heat blossomed inside him as spurts of Lucifer’s hot come shot deep into his body and a desperate cry of pleasure vibrated against that hand as Sam snapped his eyes shut against the bliss of the Devil's orgasm that wracked up him too. _Fuck!_ Sam just gave in, let go to the ripples of pleasure that bounced between them. 

Lucifer’s wet hand slid off Sam’s mouth, and allowed him to breathe better, which also allowed him to think better. _Oh fuck_ was the first thought that pushed through his fuzzy brain, which seemed pretty appropriate. He was fucked, he’d _been_ fucked, and just holy fuck. Sam wasn’t a sexual deviant like Dean, who’d had sex in every position and in every location, and although Sam thought he was pretty good in bed (hey, everyone had their good and bad days) this was just…unreal. Beyond anything. Just…fuck. His eyelids drooped back over lazy eyes. He could die utterly satisfied now, something that was probably gonna happen sooner rather than later if Dean found out. But here, kinda squished under Lucifer’s deadweight ass, he even somehow felt safe from his brother’s judgement. See, this is what he’d been afraid of when Lucifer had popped into their motel room what seemed like years ago. No, he hadn’t even considered that he might find himself nailed into the mattress of a penthouse suite hotel bed by Satan’s dick, but the small comfort he’d found in the fallen archangel had been bound to lead to something like this. Maybe not quite like _this_. Ugh. But Sam was too satisfied and warm to even feel guilty.  
“C’mon, let’s get you into bed before you fall asleep.” Lucifer grumbled in his ear, and Sam let himself be guided under the sheets. He probably needed a shower or…or something…  
“Not gonna go for round three then?” One day, Sam was sure his ass would pay for his smart mouth, and his brain offered that there might be something kinda sexy about being fucked half-asleep, but today he was answered by a chuckle.  
“Don’t want to set the first bar too high now, do we.” Lucifer pretty much purred and Sam just rolled over and assumed his usual face-smoosh position half-draped across Satan.  
“Mm, you’re so sure there’s gonna be a next time.” Sam mumbled and tried not to admit that if there wasn’t a next time he’d probably eat a cactus out of disappointment-feulled rage.  
“I think you’ve nose-dived past the point of playing hard to get, Sammy.” There was laughter in Lucifer’s voice, and that was nice to hear. He always used to sound so dangerous and cold. Now he sounded all warm and light.  
“You’re unfair.” Sam snuggled against that warm torso, and knew he was too out of it to make any sense, but had a feeling Lucifer knew that too. Gentle, smiling lips brushed his forehead.  
“Go the fuck to sleep.”  
Sam laughed, for what felt like the first honest time sober in, like, forever, and before it had even died on his lips he’d dozed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legit, I didn't plan for this much, then Lucifer rolled over and started kissing Sam and I couldn't stop him *ᴵ ᵃᵐ ʰᶦˢ ˢᶫᵃᵛᵉ **ᶰᵒᵗ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ˢᵐᵘᵗ ᴵ ʰᵒᵖᵉ  
> Also...it really just warms my little heart to hear how many people laugh and find joy in this fic. That's what it was for, to make y'all get a smile, and I'm just so glad I can help any of you out who have a bad day or something. It really means so much to me "(✿´ ꒳ ` )" On that note, here's a bit of an opinion...hell there is so much damn heavy shit in the Samifer tag. Like seriously, sometimes I'm not surprised that people stay away from this ship because I just scroll through and it's non-con, abuse etc 80% of the time in E rated fics especially and OOC AU's half the rest of the time. Not dissing on the writing or hating on people's work, not at all! The writers put their all into it and I enjoy a lot of the AU fics for just the stories and separate characterizations themselves. I just... wish there were more safe canon/True Lucifer ones, that's all, idk. :/ (ʳᵉᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉᶰᵈ ᵐᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉ) And I just don't see why there aren't, I guess. They're such a dynamic pair and can be so sassy and fun...Idk. tell me your opinions on this if you like. And if there are any writers wanting to write Samifer like that, hit me up if you want tips ay.  
> But back to me fun and positive self! Thank you guys so much for all your comments and kudos, you make my days! As always, I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° Stay awesome my bros!  
> P.S: @Georginathehorse, I can't seem to be able to find your comment to reply to it. I am confuse D:  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	11. In Which The Police Are Very Confused And Lucifer's Wicked Tongue Lends Itself To Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my fav chapters, so enjoy! :D It's also my birthday, so it's awesome I can celebrate with one of my fave chapters ＊※*⌒*o((*^▽^*))o＊※*⌒*

Dean was resurrected from an alcohol coma by the prickle of his Angelic Stare Alert and the chime of his phone. The hunter lurched upright and almost headbutted Castiel into another dimension.  
“Cas, what the hell?!” Dean pulled the blankets around him as if they might hold some crumbs of his dignity and stared at the very, very close angel with wide green eyes.  
“You have a lot of freckles.” Cas deadpanned, but Dean didn’t have the chance to even try to wonder what that even meant as his phone buzzed again. The number read Mimi, so he gave a sigh and answered.  
“Yeah?”  
“Dean! You did not answer your phone; I thought a nightmare beast had killed you in your sleep.” The blunt French accent replied with absolutely no hint of concern.  
Dean shot Castiel a glance, but decided he was a little too pretty to call a nightmare beast.  
“Yeah, well, not quite. Anyway, what is it?”  
“We have found out the name of the ‘ead vampire!” There was a gurgle in the background, then something that sounded suspiciously like a chainsaw. “But we are neck deep in it right now, so you must go to the police and investigate this man! ‘is name is Ivor Vornski. Goodbye and good luck.”  
Before Dean could even stammer out a ‘what’ the line went dead.  
“Great.” Dean huffed and tossed his phone on to the covers. “Cas, you can’t dig up any dirt on this dude can you?”

He looked over to see the angel with one of his shirts. Not really doing anything with it, just holding it with two hands under an intense gaze. Dean didn’t even bother to ask him what in all fuck he was doing; angels were weird, and although Cas was at least 80% less douchey than the other Haloed Hoes, he still did things that Dean had given up on questioning. Like how his tie had mysteriously undone itself and turned backwards again after Dean had straightened it himself on their last FBI escapade. Maybe Cas found it comfortable. Or maybe he thought it was the ‘casual way’ of wearing a tie. Who knew?  
“Lucifer will not let me fly further than he can access with ease.” Cas plopped the shirt on Dean’s bed and the hunter shifted out of bed before this silly potato began to ogle his undies.  
“Oh yeah, that reminds me.” Dean couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten about Sam’s Satanic side-ho. He tried not to notice how his own angel eyeballed the handmark on his shoulder, and accepted a pair of jeans from Cas, who refused to move back from the mostly naked hunter, but even leaned forward in a hopeful way, a bit like a cat who was about to steal food in plain sight of its owner but was going to attempt in anyway. Oh well. Cas had been through so much that Dean could allow a bit of wayward leaning. The hunter tucked his set of various guns, knives and lock picks into his usual crannies of concealment, then readied himself to pop a cap in Sam’s ass if he found his brother being the little spoon to Satan. If the moose needed to learn the hard way that snuggling with the Devil was a Bad Idea, then so be it.

Castiel followed Dean out the room, prepared to throw himself in front of Lucifer’s indignant, violent wrath if Dean did something vehement with a bullet. The older Winchester could be as stupid as he was pretty sometimes, and often Castiel wished to blow off all his frustrated steam with either a good, solid punch to Dean’s perfect face or some good, violent, bed-breaking sin. Maybe both. Consecutively. No, Castiel didn’t support Sam’s journey to become the Devil’s bottom bitch but he didn’t support the idea of an exploded Dean either, no matter how frustrating the hunter could be.

Both Castiel and Dean were so caught up in their own thoughts that they almost had a two person pile-up against Sam’s rippling chest muscles.  
“Oh hey Dean. I was just coming over to see if you were awake.” Sam offered with an innocent expression and ruffled his own hair. Too innocent. Castiel narrowed his eyes a little, but either Lucifer wasn’t letting him sense any potential fuckery that had gone on, or Sam had indeed resisted spreading for Satan.  
“How was your night?” Dean offered  
“Fine, no, fine.” Sam nodded and ran a hand through his majestic hair. Castiel mused that whichever angel in charge of the exterior of Michael and Lucifer’s vessels had seemingly wanted to have the world end in a hot, passionate struggle between two sculpted men, and if the archangels were going out they were going out looking fantastic. Castiel wanted to befriend this angel. They seemed like they knew their shit.  
“No Devil-induced sin?” Dean pressed with the subtlety of a large dog to the face. His expression hardened as though he expected Sam gently toss him out a window, but the younger Winchester’s mood seemed far from the angry, red-tinged thing Castiel was used to seeing of late. In fact, Sam’s skin had a healthy glow, and he appeared fit and well in all aspects of himself; no demon taint, no harmful patches on his psyche, just…content had to be the only word Castiel could describe Sam as. Which didn’t make any sense unless he needed to go into the Sin Bin for a Devil-inducted health cleanse.  
“No, no sin here.” Sam shrugged and hit them with eyes so innocent they were up there with virgins and children. “How about you?”

Dean looked at Castiel, mouth half open as though he’d been about to say something but had utterly and completely lost what it was he’d been about to say. Not to say Castiel disapproved of the expression. It made him wonder the temperature of Dean’s mouth. It put those plump lips on display. It made those green eyes fly wide and catch the light. Needless to mention, nobody missed Castiel staring like he wanted to nail Dean against the wall but then again nobody found it a new occurrence.  
“W-what the hell do you mean by that?” The older Winchester stammered and Sam just smirked for a reason Castiel didn’t understand.  
“We did not sin, Sam.” Castiel clarified. “However Dean did get very inebriated and – “  
“Mimi called.” Dean sent him a ferocious side-eye that suggested Sam should not know about how the older Winchester had, while very drunk, discovered that Castiel knew very little about yoga and had tried to educate him. It had ended up with Dean falling on his face three times and then getting stuck in the Lotus position for twenty minutes. The angel was not sure why this was private information; he’d found it endearing.  
“Mmm?” Sam crossed his arms and leaned across the wall with a smug expression as he took in the pair of them.  
“So suit up Action Man, we got work to do.”

***

Head of Police, Cara Pulby tramped into her office with a sigh. Apparently there were FBI Agents here after some information on someone, and the government had decided to send not one, not two, but three highly trained killers in here to gather leads. This person must be in the shit or about to be in the shit. Maybe the FBI either didn’t have enough to do or thought these three were just a bit trash and needed to be given a ‘special job’. Cara sighed. Whatever this was, it was bound to give her a headache.

“Send them in.” She paged the front desk and then had to physically stop her eyebrows from punching two neat holes in the ceiling. Three of the most attractive men she’d ever seen strode through the door. What was this, the FBI Department of Blue Steel? Blue-Eyed Jailbait sat to the left, the Michelangelo sculpture sat in the middle and Mr L’Oreal Paris Commercial sat on the right, and it all seemed to confirm her suspicions. Yep, these must be the Chippendales of the FBI.  
“Hi, I’m special agent Cronin. This is agent Daughtry and Amato.” Sculpture boy gestured to Jailbait and L’Oreal, although Jailbait proceeded to eye the middle man like he was his bottom bitch, then turned back to her. She half expected Prashna from Evidence to jump through the door and yell ‘Pranked ya!’ But no. L’Oreal just leaned forward on the desk.  
“We need some information on Ivor Vornski if that’s possible.” Big, brown, puppy-dog eyes lifted to her, and wow, that was one reason why they might sent these dudes in to get information. Well, the first two. Jailbait seemed to have fixed her with an unblinking, incessant stare, face blank in a creepy kind of way. Cara had a feeling that he might be trying to use some sort of interrogation tactic, but why wasn’t very clear. 

So she shifted under that eternal blue void and turned back to the other two.  
“Ivor Vornski? Yeah, he’s one of the most well-known community leaders around here.” She reached into her side draw and pulled out a pamphlet. These three must be from out of town. Who didn’t know the Vornskis? “He ran for town mayor last – “  
“Oh!” L’Oreal gasped and slammed a hand down on the table so suddenly that she jumped. His whole body tensed and Michelangelo’s Cronin shot him a confused glance. Jailbait didn’t. Jailbait kept that unblinking stare fixed on her with no concept of time or space.  
“You alright?” The sculpted agent frowned, and his Redwood of a partner swallowed then nodded.  
“Y-yeah, just, uh, cramp.” L’Oreal made a pained expression and nodded at her. “Forgot to stretch this morning.”  
The living Renaissance statue shot him another quick glance then turned back to her. “You were saying?”  
“Yeah, he ran for mayor last year, but was beaten just by July Bordwell…” Cara trailed off and frowned as L’Oreal sucked in another harsh breath and clenched his fist on the table. A faint flush had crept into his cheeks, and either he was embarrassed by his cramp, which seemed to be in the upper thigh region, or some horny officer had crept under her table while she wasn’t looking and decided to suck the first dick that came along.  
“Is he alright?” Cara looked at L’Oreal’s friends as the long haired agent pulled an innocent expression as though none of this was out of the ordinary. Jailbait bored into her soul. Michelangelo’s FBI Agent looked as though he might drown himself in a vat of hard liquor.  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m f-fine.” L’Oreal managed out through gritted teeth.  
“It’s Satan.” Oh, so Jailbait did speak! Didn’t seem to have the blink response though. Wait, what? 

Before Cara could even voice her confusion, the living sculpture jumped in.  
“He means, y’know, cramp is hell, am I right Amato?” He turned to his tall partner, who appeared to be having a minor seizure. Cara was ready to put this scenario down to three things; imminent hospitalization, a stress-induced hallucination or the start of a very bad porno.  
“Anyway.” The middle agent rode over both L’Oreal muffling a sound of…pain?...with his hand and Jailbait, who had started to say something and shot her a strained smile. “Ivor Vornski?”  
“Well their family has been in this city as long as anyone can remember.” She decided that just printing Ivor’s information profile might be the quicker option as L’Oreal ran a shaking hand through his hair and clutched the table so hard his knuckles went white. Maybe he was the ‘hippy agent’ on drugs. His hair was long enough.  
“Although they might be hard to find at the present; the family is probably preparing for the Georgian-Era Themed ball they are hosting for the city’s community leaders and upper class in their country estate a few hours out.” The event was the talk of the town, even though it was exclusive. She’d been rather flattered to have received an invitation, but then again, the chief of police was a rather important position in the community. Why the FBI would be interested in the Vornskis, Cara had no idea. Then again, the family didn’t really have much to worry about unless trenchcoat over there lived up to the promise of his stare and ate souls. Seriously, he hadn’t blinked for at least three minutes. That couldn’t be healthy.

“A ball, you say?” Michaelanglo’s sculpture tried to shoot his partner a glance, but L’Oreal made a strained noise, squeezed his eyes shut and looked away with a tense expression.  
“Yeah…Does he need medical help? Or a glass of water or to walk it off or something…” She offered and the middle agent raised his eyebrows at his partner.  
“Do you? Maybe you should walk it off. Go get some fresh air.” Sculpture boy seemed to have zero chill. Perhaps they did this a lot. Threw off their victims with the good cop, eternal-stare cop and orgasm cop routine.  
“No, no, no, it’s good, it’s – ah! – good.” L’Oreal bent over the desk a little bit and a spasm ran through his massive shoulders. It was a little too good by the sound of it.  
“Ookay.” Cara decided that whatever the heck this was, she really had no business interfering with the FBI and their secret mission tactics.  
“Have you ever met the Vornskis?” The green-eyed agent ploughed on as though his partner to the right hadn’t been lost in some kind of eyeball trance and the one to the right wasn’t getting his dick sucked by Caspar the Deep-Throat ghost or whatever.  
“Yeah, a few times at community meetings and all that. They’ve got a kind of European elegance you don’t see much of in the States.” Cara shot a perturbed glance at Jailbait just to see if he would hold the eye contact. He did. His gaze consumed her so much that she almost missed the erotic noise badly disguised as a cough L’Oreal made as he convulsed, tensed then slumped in the chair. Just what in all fuck was going on in the FBI nowadays?  
“Did they seem odd to you?” Michelangelo’s sculpture just carried on like the ultimate pro. Cara was tempted to point out that this was literally the most weird moment in her entire life, and she swore she’d had a Close Encounter in 10th Grade. “Avoid the sunlight, not eat or drink much, anything like that?”  
“Now that I think about it, they do cover up and wear sunglasses a lot.” She shrugged. Anybody who thought they were anybody wore sunglasses indoors nowadays. It wasn’t really _that_ odd. Compared.  
“Look, I’ve printed out his profile, and here’s Ivor’s main address and his country estate if you want to question him. You can have the mayoral pamphlet too if you like.”

Jailbait’s eyes followed her with unwavering focus as she circled around the back of them, cast a surreptitious glance under the table, just to check there wasn’t some kind of surprise prostitute under there and collected the documents. There didn’t seem to be anything unnatural or whore-like between L’Oreal’s legs but he definitely looked like he needed a post-coital cigarette. Perhaps he’d mastered the art of using Chi energy to jack off in public or something. Why? Who knew. The again, the FBI loved to stay mysterious. And these three were nothing if not mysterious. Jailbait had overdone it a bit and bordered on a vacuum of existential crisis, but who was perfect?  
“Great, thank you so much.” L’Oreal took the papers and nodded as though he hadn’t just jizzed in his pants from some voyeuristic cramp kink.  
“Yeah, we’ll be on our way now.” The only normal one out of the three rose and shook her hand. He slid a card across her desk. “If there’s anything more about the Vornskis you think is important or that crops up, please give me a call.”  
They filed out and at last Jailbait broke his seven-minute stare to fixate on his partner’s ass. Cara wondered whether she needed to send her tea into forensics to be analysed for drugs, because there wasn’t really another explanation.

 

Sam didn’t know whether to punch himself in the face or feel blessed. Holy shit, Lucifer could suck a dick. He was kind of proud that he hadn’t lost control and started moaning like a whore (much), but Jeez…he’d tried not to orgasm, but when Lucifer crossed the line with wing-fondling, Sam didn’t think it was humanely possible not to come. Not to mention, Sam hadn’t realized up until his Satanic fling that he was such a voyeur-kink little shit. Ugh. Damn all this. Damn their link. Damn how good Lucifer was with his tongue. And fingers. And the rough growl of his voice… 

Sam had kinda thought this morning he’d feel different somehow after having the Devil shoot a payload in his ass, but it seemed like every other morning after a good fuck. Well, a good fuck was putting it mildly. A fantastic fuck. A mindblowing multiple-orgasm fuckfest plus wet-dream cherry on top. Jeez, he was so screwed.  
“Well?” Dean had probably asked him a question three minutes ago, and Sam tried to focus, but was still on languid Devil-induced orgasm aftershock mode.  
“What?” Sam painted what he hoped was a neutral expression on his face and turned to his brother as they regrouped in the Station’s reception.  
“What the hell was all that about?” Dean hissed and looked around. Sam also looked around, but Tongue of the Year had probably gone back to his usual location on the roof.  
“Lucifer is inappropriate?” Sam tried with a shrug. What else could he say? Lying wouldn’t work, because what excuse could he possibly conjure for his behaviour except that he’d been momentarily possessed by a demon? Or that Becky had been hiding under the table. Yikes. It was in all honesty when he mused he’d much rather Satan any day.  
“So you let him deep-throat you under the desk?” Dean had no idea. Apparently angels didn’t have even the slightest notion of a gag reflex.  
“It was either that or slap myself repeatedly in the face. Which would look weirder, Dean?” Sam protested and Dean opened then closed his mouth as he seemed to see the logic of that, so he rounded on Castiel instead.  
“And Cas, did you have to stare at that lady like a creep?”  
“If I did not focus on something I would have seen… things.” Castiel sent Sam a sideways glance but said nothing because an invisible Lucifer held a live, Satanic piranha five millimetres away from his balls. True, Dean could probably imagine from the slight haunted twitch of his eye just what ‘things’ Castiel had seen his brother do, but Lucifer never let up a chance for a good piranha-to-balls situation. 

“Great, so now the chief of police thinks we’re nutjobs.” Dean threw up his hands with a sigh.  
“Well…we kinda are.” Sam offered. If he could admit to wanting the Devil’s dick in his ass, he could sign up to the crazy train. Plus, a few weeks back they had literally been admitted to a mental asylum for just sharing their life story. If that didn’t say nutjob, what did? Dean just shot him a look that said ‘you might be an ounce of testosterone short of an anger-management program, but I’m not’, which just made Sam want Lucifer to whisk him away for some candyfloss or the date he’d asked him out on yesterday. It was odd; since he and the archangel had been connected, there hadn’t been that red, blind rage, that itch of violence at the back of his head. Given it was Satan, that seemed kinda weird, but there had always been something patient and eternal about Lucifer, a calm that had reached out and wrapped around his rage, his panic and his horror at himself ever since the Devil had appeared to him in a dream. As his girlfriend. And he had totally let Sam neck-kiss him. What the shit.  
“Not in public!” Dean continued in a hushed voice like a soccer mom who doesn’t want all the other soccer moms to hear that her ten-year-old came last in the school sprint. Beside Dean, Castiel, who had been more statue-like than normal, visibly relaxed, and Lucifer appeared against the central square pillar a little behind Sam. Why Castiel was Dean’s holy limpet in this reception room which could easily hold _twenty_ grown men with no body contact necessary, Sam wasn’t sure. Lucifer had an excuse, but then again they did have a fifteen metre radius. Maybe that’s how angels showed attraction; they suckered on to their love interest and just didn’t let go. For eternity. 

“Christ will have risen by the time we solve this one.” The Devil picked his nails with a knife he’d conjured up from somewhere and Sam knew that look. That bored look that meant he’d probably end up half-naked at a table with a hand of bad cards regretting his poor life decisions. Who knew, Satan might let him win more now that they were…something slightly…a bit…very… intimate. “And he said he’d throw my pit-beast in a volcano this time which was rude.”  
“When the Risen Christ descends, you shall cower in fear!” Castiel growled, and Sam was still a little fixed on the image of a butch Jesus hurling a hell-beast into a volcano in a fit of bearded, hippy wrath.  
“Oh, drop it brother.” Lucifer waved a dismissive hand. “Daddy went on vacation with that flawed, easily-manipulated clay doll and left all his real children to mind the shop.”  
Castiel’s jaw dropped like the popular girl who’d had pasta sauce thrown on her shirt, and Sam decided to cut in before this turned into an angelic hand-slap fight.  
“Ok, so the vampire family is out of town this weekend in their private estate home.” Sam reasoned, and Dean patted Castiel’s shoulder as he glared daggers at Lucifer’s smirk. Wow, Gabriel hadn’t been joking when he’d said family dinners were an Apocalypse. Maybe that was the real reason why God left the building; Lucifer got demanding when he was bored, Gabriel probably pranked The Almighty to his wit’s end, Sam imagined Raphael to be the preppy, righteous one who always had the angelic equivalent of a ringbinder and seven pens and Michael probably suffered a full ice-cream, tissues and The Notebook mental breakdown every week from having to kick everyone’s ass back into line.

Lucifer steepled his fingers against his lips and fixed him with a look like a hot daddy professor might give to his favourite student. Sam could just about hear that 300,000th of Lucifer wheeze-laughing away in the back of his head. Fucking hell. “Mmhmm Sammy and they’re holding – “  
“ – a ball – “  
“ – and invited – “  
“All the important and wealthy figures in the city!” Sam finished and turned to Dean, eyes wide with realization, but was met with a very unamused expression.  
“That was disgusting. You’re even finishing each other’s sentences.” Dean rolled his eyes, but Castiel frowned.  
“Dean, I fail to see how that is disgusting.” The angel looked between Lucifer and Sam, Sin-Squint in place, but unless he could spot Sam’s recently popped backdoor cherry, then he probably wouldn’t find himself and his balls in close proximity with a piranha again.  
“It’s…never mind, ok.” Dean huffed and ran a hand down his face. “So these vampires are gonna turn every fat cat into vampires at this ball and then get them busy on the rest of America, I’m assuming?”  
“Ooh, the pet monkey’s caught up.” Lucifer should have auditioned for Mean Girls with a sassy pout like that, and Sam shot him a glare. If he wanted his dick sucked in return, he’d have to be nicer to the family. But before Lucifer or Sam could say anything, Castiel gathered up Dean’s hands and looked deep into his eyes.  
“You are very intelligent, Dean. Lucifer is just cruel.”  
Needless to say, Dean went bright red and flailed out of the angel’s tender hold. “I know that, damnit Cas! Now can we just go kill some vamps already?”

Poor, bemused little Castiel watched Dean charge off with his hands still in the place Dean had left them. Sam had to work overtime to stop a fit of sniggers and shot Lucifer a very amused look which was met by the Devil’s supportive raised eyebrows.  
“Yeah, good luck with that, Cas.” Sam smirked, and Castiel seemed unsure whether he should be laughing along as well. Or perhaps he was just in shock from being so far away from his Deanbean.  
“You could have better taste though.” Lucifer bared his teeth and eyed the older Winchester’s dwindling back with disdain. Sam just gave the Devil a playful smack on the arm and headed off toward the Impala with a smug little smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, Winchesters+police are always a good time in my opinion n.n Also, if you'd like to read something original by me, check out the link below, if ya haven't already - it's a laugh. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I would love to hear what you thought of it (or even what might happen next!)! I enjoy all your comments so much - it's so fun to know what you think, and even the smallest comment makes me smile c: Also thank y'all for the fics recs, very much appreciated. Stay awesome my buddies! ﾟ.+:｡(･ω･)bﾟ.+:｡ｸﾞｯ  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	12. In Which Lucifer Plays Dress-Up With Team Free Will And Dean Probably Needs Therapy

“So how the hell did Mimi get invites?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed as Dean handed him a smooth slip of card. They’d done some more digging on Ivor, interviewed his home staff too, but there wasn’t much more to be found other than he had an extensive family throughout Europe and seemed to be involved in human – or vampiric – trafficking based here. Sam had a strong suspicion that the Vornski mansion had some very dirty secrets in the basement, and of course, it was up to them and a mad French couple to uncover them. After the research, Mimi had barrelled in, presented them with tickets, gave them violent, hurried dance instructions and barrelled out. By the time they’d learned four staple but shit-complicated traditional dances evening was well on its way.  
“I think she killed someone?” Dean offered, and leaned across the several minimalist tables they’d pushed together in the older Winchester’s luxury suite. Cas leaned against a wall laden with canvases that looked like a 3-yr-old had flicked black paint at them, but were probably worth $2000 each. Seriously, life must be easy in the modern art world. Chuck some goo at a wall. Get a toddler to chuck some goo at a wall. Hell, chuck the toddler at a wall and it’d probably sell in the high hundreds. 

Lucifer just perched on the end of the king bed, which was odd. Usually he’d phase out for the group discussions, or arguments as they tended to turn into whenever Lucifer and Dean were in close proximity. They’d done well in this conversation so far. True, it had only consisted of two sentences, but that was probably still a record.  
Sam took another glance at the ticket and frowned. “Dude. A costume is mandatory.”  
Dean squinted at his own ticket for a moment. “Georgian-Era? What even is that?”  
“Think Pride and Prejudice.” Sam shrugged. He’d like to say he’d gone through the Jane Austen phase, but it had really just been a Keira Knightley phase. To be honest, wet-dream Bella had not been a coincidence.  
“Dude, could you be more of a girl?” Dean raised his eyebrows in Sam’s direction and got the Winchesterᵀᴹ bitchface.  
“Fine, go with Napoleon, shortie.” He glared at Satan too, who had decided his joke was worth a snicker. “We’ll be needing a plus one as well.”  
“When is this thing again?” Dean leaned back in his chair and glanced up at Sam, even though they all knew.  
“Tonight.” Sam supplied with a sigh. 

Even with Dean’s ‘animal magnetism’ it’d be a long stretch to both find a decent Georgian costume each and pull a classy enough chick also with a costume.  
“Then whaddaya say, Sam?” Lucifer winked, and his features dissolved. Instead of a roguish house dad in his early forties, the Devil now had a fountain of glossy black hair, big doe eyes, plump red lips and tatas a porn star would be proud of, that had somehow been squooshed into a red satin corset. “Take me to the ball, handsome?”  
Even with the sexy huskiness in that very female voice and all the rest on display, Sam kinda hoped he switched back to normal if he agreed. Gawd, Sam put the idea that ‘daddy kink’ might be added to his growing list through a mental woodchipper, and brought himself back to the stunned silence of the room.  
“Sam, help. I’m staring a Satan’s tits.” Dean swallowed and did indeed appear to be transfixed by Lucifer’s ample muffin tops. Castiel also seemed transfixed by Lucifer but in the ‘jealous and bitchy’ kind of way.  
“Lucifer, do you really wanna give Dean a boner?” Sam raised his eyebrows, and those crimson lips curled in disgust. The fact that the archangel seemed partial to him and only him made Sam glow a bit inside, but he wondered what kind of personality/sexual/bestiality crisis that could even be compared to for the being. After all, humans were all that Lucifer hated, and to make love to one, to kiss one as slowly and gently as he’d done last night when they’d been wrapped around each other… How did that compute?

“When you put it like that.” The black-haired beauty melted back into the familiar, pale-eyed blonde and Sam felt something nestle back down inside of him with contentment.  
“Can you do that?” Dean turned to Castiel, whose jaw worked a little.  
“No.” He sniped and glanced at Lucifer with reproach.  
“Although…” The archangel flicked a finger with a smirk, and Castiel’s trenchcoat and suit appeared in a folded heap on the table. Instead _he_ was the one with curls of black hair that tumbled to the curve of his neck, and although Lucifer hadn’t changed his face or male physique (just used a strategic cut of Georgian dress to conceal his lack of titties), Castiel made a pretty girl. _Hell_ did he make a pretty girl. Well, he’d always kinda had that fine-boned facial structure, Sam thought, although Lucifer could have given him a shave just to complete the image. Castiel looked at his gold-embroidered, bicep-length gloves with a ridiculous kind of elegance, but didn’t really seem to mind at all. Then again, angels just seemed to plonk themselves in a vessel and run around in whatever the hell they’d been wearing at the time without any real thought as to what. Seriously, he was surprised they hadn’t seen a servant of God in, like, one sock and a pair of Batman boxers. He hoped if Dean ever said yes to Michael, that he’d get that stylish Lederhosen the deranged shapeshifter had fitted him with last year and make the Day of Judgement live up to its name.  
“Nice shade of blue, Lucifer. Matches his eyes.” Sam smirked, but it was true. The little guy, whose eyes were usually huge limpid pools, now bordered on anime ridiculousness. Satan pursed his lips with pride.  
“Why thank you. I’m sure I could come up with something…” Those low-lidded eyes trailed from Sam’s ankles all the way to his face with no shame whatsoever. Sam really needed to sit down and have a good talk to his dick about the tiny, stupid things it was not allowed to get excited over. “…equally as pleasing for you.”

But before Sam could stammer or blush or cross his legs or wonder how Satan had become so adept at fashion design, Castiel cocked his head.  
“Lucifer?”  
“Yes, Castiel.”  
“Is it necessary for my vessel to wear a very small undergarment made of edible matter for this mission?” Castiel sounded legitimately curious, and Sam let out the most undignified laugh-snort as Dean’s shellshocked eyes flew even wider. His brother had been kind of frozen ever since Lucifer had gone fairy godmother on Castiel’s ass, and Sam wondered whether he wasn’t the only one nursing a semi.  
“No.” Lucifer smirked, but didn’t provide anything else.  
“Oh.” Castiel just sort of stood there like an awkward Cinderella, and Sam noted that Lucifer had even pinned little crystal flowers into his hair or wig or whatever.  
“You could take them off?” Dean broke out of his stupor, and Cas’s eyes narrowed on him.  
“Later, Dean.” Somehow Castiel managed to pull off a bad stage whisper, and Sam had to cover his mouth as his shoulders shook with laughter.  
“What?” Dean looked both shocked, scared and a teensy bit hopeful, and the younger Winchester’s cheeks hurt as he chewed them in an attempt to stop hysterics.  
“What.” Castiel repeated, expression utterly blank, and Sam couldn’t take it anymore; he collapsed against the table with fits of laughter until there were tears on his cheeks.

“Well it looks…hahhh…like we’ve got our dates.” Sam managed out when he could breathe again, and it must have affected Lucifer along their mental link because the archangel’s face had softened with amusement.  
“And you two will be needing attire also.” Castiel picked up the side of his sumptuous skirt and swished it in a distracted, curious kind of way.  
“Looks like I get to play dress-up with you after all.” Lucifer turn a slow, sultry gaze on him, and his lips twitched with amusement. Sam needed to slap some sense into his cock and his imagination for that matter at the way the bastards reacted to that.  
“Hey, you might be set on getting down and dirty with manther Satan, but I need my sanity.” Dean’s look warned that if Sam suddenly found himself in a leather thong and harness both he and the Devil were gonna get one of Castiel’s Men’s size 14 high heels to the face.  
“You could leave?” Lucifer offered, but Sam just sent him an enduring look and tried to ignore how the idea of being Satan’s Ken doll was going right through the same daddy-kink-depriving mental woodchipper.  
“Lucifer, c’mon.” He shrugged at Lucifer and turned his body full towards the archangel with his palms relaxed upwards. If they could make it through this without him being put in a Sailor Moon outfit, he could deal. Satan rubbed his hands together with an unbridled, wicked glint in his eye while Castiel continued to swish around in the background with an unnatural knack for high heels.

Before Sam could even blink his FBI suit was gone (Lucifer was definitely going to bring it back – that was two he owed him now) and a lavish, light gold waistcoat cinched in the loose white shirt on his torso. One of those odd ‘Mr Darcy’ necktie things held around his throat and Sam noted his hair had been pulled back by a bow at the nape of his neck. He hadn’t thought it had been long enough for that, but maybe Lucifer had taken artistic licence there too.  
And then he noticed the pants. Jesus.  
Tight white breeches about a size or two too small clung to him like paint, which was not helped by the fact that a) Lucifer’s stupid gazes had him half-hard and even in that state he wasn’t exactly small and b) _someone_ had decided a skimpy jockstrap would be a good idea. He could feel the fucking texture of the chair under his ass that was only one thin layer of white fabric away from being bare. Fucking hell. This was not helping the dick situation.

“Jacket?” Lucifer shot him a perky smile and conjured a long black tailcoat with enough gold embroidery for a prince on the table just out of his reach. Ok, despite the inappropriate underwear, that jacket did actually look amazing. Sam stood and bent over the table to reach it before he realized why Lucifer hadn’t just conjured it on him like the rest, that fucking booty-pervert. But instead getting pissed and playing his little game, Sam just arched his back a little, gave Lucifer the best view of his nickel-bouncing ass all nice and framed in obscene white, and hoped the Devil got the frustrated boner he deserved.  
“Thanks.” He kept an honest pokerface even when he turned back to see what could only be described as the horny version of a death glare. There was still that veneer of cool, calm patience, and Sam tried not to think about how this was the Devil, who would probably find a million different ways to nail him like a whore into a wall for being such a temptuous minx because it would make these breeches (more) indecent.  
“Well, look at you, a real nancy.” Dean chuckled, but stopped so very suddenly when he found himself in a pink tutu.  
“Oh yeah, totally.” Sam pursed his lips with sassy glee and gave Lucifer a mental hi-five, which his inappropriate 300,000th returned like a pro.  
“Sam!” Dean opened and closed his mouth like a ballerina fish, then turned to Castiel, who seemed to be very interested from under his on-fleek highlighter and eyeshadow. “Dude, help?”  
“Are you in pain?” Castiel cocked his head. “Do you want me to remove your clothing?”

Sam stared with his mouth half open at the angel who hadn’t even skipped a beat, and Dean did the exact same thing. Lucifer, the Seductive Snake, the Lord of Passion and Subtlety was probably crying an inward tear over his brother’s either obliviousness or sledgehammer-like passes.  
“No, damnit – “  
“Lucifer…” Sam sighed and looked across at the archangel to change his brother back before Dean exploded from being not manly enough.  
“Sure you don’t want him to give bellydancing a spin?” Lucifer asked with all the innocence of a kitten. As much as Castiel would appreciate it, Sam had a duty to his brother not to go too far.  
“No, I think we both know I’d look much better.” He mused and was rewarded with Dean being clad in a green, double-breasted tailcoat and significantly looser tan breeches. Before he had time to congratulate Dean on his return to manliness, Lucifer’s hot breath ghosted on his ear. Sam hadn’t even heard him get up.  
“Mmm, I know just how well your pretty hips can roll and buck and…shudder.” What a coincidence that Sam shuddered at the application of tongue to ear right on the tail end of that word. “I could stop time you know and take you right now on the bed with your brother and Castiel still in the room.”

First of all fuck Lucifer for picking up on his voyeur ass, second of all fuck Lucifer for making him cross his legs for the sake of his brother’s eyeballs and thirdly fuck Lucifer, he wasn’t _that_ easy. So Sam thought to hell with it and went with his theme of bad life decisions.  
“Only on the bed? Not very imaginative.” He murmured back, and took in the archangel’s ‘oh no, boy you didn’t just’ eyebrows. Oh Jesus. He was sooo fucked. He could already feel the phantom twinge in his ass from how hard Satan was going to pound him into the most creative surface he could find. But instead of being sensible and looking away, he sent ‘oh yeah this boy just did’ eyebrows right back at him. Because apparently Sam wanted Satan to actually murder him with his dick. 

Then Castiel found his way back from being lost in Dean’s eyes and noticed their conversation.  
“Sam! Let not the snake whisper sin into your ear!” Castiel hitched up his skirts and probably would have smacked Lucifer over the head with a fan and been vaporized for the trouble, but the Devil sat back with a slow, dangerous smile, intense eyes laser-focussed on Sam. Ohh shit.  
“Oh, fear not brother. I’ve done all the whispering I need to.” Lucifer’s eyes slid off him, and Sam felt as though a great big spotlight had been lifted away. His cock fucking _throbbed_ against the tight cover of this damn jockstrap, but he was not gonna give Satan the satisfaction.  
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything vessel related.” Sam sighed. He’d almost forgotten that was a thing, which might have been Lucifer’s plan all along. But whatever that plan had been, Sam had a feeling that had changed in favour of being inside him in a different kind of way – well, for now. And that was a definite yes on the consent, even though he might be a bitch about it.  
“Yeah, cause anything else he might be whispering in your ear isn’t worth worrying about.” Dean rolled his eyes and hauled his duffel bag off the side table that was probably worth more than Sam was. His brother handed him a machete and a couple of capped syringes full of dead man’s blood. Hopefully Lucifer could supply some sort of weapon strapping and pockets in this long tailcoat because there was no way in heaven or hell that his pants could pack any more. They were a bit too full as it was.  
“C’mon, it’ll take a few hours to get there and we probably want to scope the place out a bit.” Dean growled and hefted the bag over his shoulder. “Plus we’re meant to be meeting Mimi and Patrique along the road somewhere.”

Sam’s relationship with Mimi was a disgruntled one; she didn’t even come up to his chest. When he’d stood up to greet her and Patrique, she’d worn the expression of wanting to kick his shins in. But there had been no shin damage, so no foul, and the pair seemed like competent hunters if a little insane. But that was rich coming from the guy who was tied to the satanic angel destined to possess his ass and 1v1 his brother in an Apocalyptic deathmatch. Well, perhaps all the best hunters had to be a little crazy. Sam smiled to himself as he followed the trail of Castiel’s skirts out the door. Food, drink, slaughter and probably some hardcore sex…This might be a very fun night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the birthday wishes and lovely comments! You guys are amazing, and I did have an awesome birthday n.n Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and as always I would love to hear what you thought of it! I'm glad so many of you are getting a laugh out of it x) Stay awesome guys! (´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ `)♡  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	13. In Which The Devil Dances And Sam Is Reintroduced To Tables

Turned out the Vornskis had hired what seemed to be an entire company’s worth of angel-confirmed vampire security guards. Nobody who shouldn’t be getting in was getting in, and Sam had a suspicion that nobody was getting out if the vampires didn’t want it. Dean and Mimi had all been for ‘start the murderfest’ but with the amount of people in the grounds and the sheer amount of heads they’d have to hack, someone would find a body. And the last thing Sam wanted was for someone to call the cops and for the cops to realize the psychopath Winchester brothers were still up and kicking, and then for them to have both police and a small army of vampires on their tail. Of course, a certain satanic someone could have solved all their problems with a blink, but Lucifer had disappeared to go make himself look pretty or whatever. Sure Cas could rip someone’s head off with his elegant, gloved hands, but his mega-smite powers had dwindled with his ability to heal and all that jazz. So the general consensus ended with the decision to go in the way they’d planned and figure out the rest from inside. And if it came down to the wire, Sam could offer the Devil anything short of Yes for assistance. Hey, he may as well use his manly bisexual wiles before they all got vampirised and sold to a wealthy patron in the Ukraine or whatever.

They made their way into a vast entrance hall complete with ornate wooden carvings across the walls, a lush crimson carpet and a set of gilded doors that Sam could only presume led into the ballroom. How could this be someone’s spare house?  
The other guests filled it like jewels in a bowl, and Sam felt that familiar prick of appreciative gazes. Looked like he, Cas and Dean were a little under the average age (Cas’s vessel at least), but for once Sam noted with both relief and amusement, he wasn’t getting the brunt of it. Patrique had put his foot down and made them stop off for a moment to give Castiel a shave, and now the blue-eyed damsel who had once been a stoic warrior of the lord had heads turning like someone had started a fire. Of course, Castiel was as oblivious as a Christmas tree and Dean seemed smug as a pug. Well, it was good to see Dean getting his gay on, even if it did require a bit of happy, satanic crossdressing on Castiel’s part. Speaking of, if Lucifer didn’t turn up soon, Sam had a feeling he’d get jumped by the grandma who’d been making her way slowly but surely toward him and his tight white breeches for the last two minutes. And Sam didn’t particularly feel like a cane to the face from her moustache of a husband either.

“Missing me?” A gentle tease of a voice ghosted over Sam’s ear, and a hand settled on the opposite hip, not a tight squeeze, but just enough touch for unquestionable possession.  
“Hey, hand on the back, you won’t get a smack, touch the butt and you’ll get a cut.” Sam warned with the practised ease of serial cougarbait and turned to look at…oh shit. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fucking fair at all. First of all _red_. Second of all _military uniform_. Third of all _tight fucking white breeches_. Sam didn’t know whether he loved or hated the Georgians and tried not to think about how ‘uniform kink’ might be joining the stupid list of things he really shouldn’t like that much. But it was more than just the redcoat commander brocaded jacket. Lucifer’s stance had unfolded from his usual slouch into something poised and straight-backed and suddenly Sam could see the warrior and king this archangel was instead of just the serpent of the shadows; everyone seemed small and unimportant beside him. In fact, Lucifer looked like something out of one of those ridiculous, dramatic paintings where the flags rippled in the wind and everyone’s horses posed like America’s Next Top Model. Oh God. Why had his brain had to bring horses into this, and with it thoughts of hot sand, sweat and leather. 

A trickle of heat drizzled down through Sam’s cheeks and off toward his groin, and his skin pulsed where Lucifer’s fingers pressed against him. Everything was too warm, and it buzzed under his skin as though he were drunk. That desire to touch Lucifer reared up again with a fury and Sam had to grit his teeth against it. This was revenge for his shameless ass-flaunting wasn’t it? The image of Lucifer the Redcoat Commander messy and undone as he rode Sam like a conquest prize in the barn of some abandoned Spanish farm had the taller man dizzy from the amount of blood that left his head.  
He tried to speak. Nothing came out, so Sam cleared his throat and started again.  
“You, er…” Fuck, he tried so hard not to stammer, but his head was still off in Napoleonic Spain and being fucked like a dog. At least the lack of blood in his upper body meant no schoolgirl blush, and Sam swallowed around the words that he hoped might manifest in the next few seconds.  
“Excuse me, dear, are you with anybody?” Saved by the horny grandma. Hooray.  
“Mmm, sorry, this one’s taken.” Lucifer didn’t even look at her; his eyes were pure sin, and something supremely smug had settled across his features, and Sam didn’t know what to do. Which was also a first. He was in no way a dainty virgin or some breathless twink, hell, usually he was the one to pick up his date and slam them into a wall. But there was this aura about Lucifer, this charisma, this power, and it was a weakness. Just like the rush of the demon blood had been a weakness. Ok, maybe he was a bit of a power whore. And Lucifer was the most alpha alpha to ever alpha, unlike his regular hook-ups who wanted the big, tall muscle man to toss them around. 

Sam mentally penned the thought down under ‘things to never tell Dean’ and found his voice as the doors to the ballroom opened.  
“C’mon, we should stick with the others.” Sam just followed the middle-aged stares to where Castiel and Dean were, but moved slow enough that he didn’t dislodge Lucifer’s quiet touch, because hell, all he could feel was that gentle, sure press like a drop in a still pool that sent ripples out from it. He didn’t even want to look down at his crotch because it’d probably just confirm how pornographic these breeches looked right now.

The ballroom swelled out like a huge, polished interior of a paua shell. The floor swirled with a mosaic of designs, a set of crystal chandeliers dipped down from the ceiling and ornate woodwork glistened in their light. A little string band played in the corner, whilst tables laden with canapés and all the ridiculously tiny yet complicated food rich people served at events lined the sides. People Sam assumed were the Vornskis already decorated the hall, and were soon enveloped by a swath of intrigued and congratulatory guests. Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked at Sam. There was no way they could whip out the machetes here, and even if they did, there were a lot of vampires, security included. More than they’d ever taken on in one go. The band picked up into moderately paced…string thing (hey, Sam was no musician), and some couples began to move toward the dance floor.  
“What do we do now?” He hissed at his brother, who seemed to want to do Cas right now.  
“Now, I think, we dance.” Lucifer murmured in his ear, and a hand took his while those fingers pushed a little more firmly on his stupid, sensitive hip.  
“Lucifer – “  
“C’mon, and if you’re good, I’ll give you a clue.” Lucifer smirked, and Sam had to choose between an eye-roll so hard that he might see his own brain or more drooling over Lucifer and his uniform. He chose the first option in an attempt to turn his breeches PG again. This was so unfair.  
“Dean…” Sam made a helpless gesture as he was guided away, and his brother followed with Castiel on his arm. Thank goodness Mimi had taught them some dances today or he’d look a right idjit. He kind of already did, being the only dude on the girl’s side (excluding Castiel, but he was the belle of the ball). He was taller than Lucifer! But Sam couldn’t really imagine the Devil doing anything but lead, so he sighed and took his bow instead of the curtsy, and shot Satan a bitch face at the amused smirk the archangel sent back as he bowed too. Well at least Sam could have bragging rights that the Devil had bowed to him. That had to count for something. Then he stepped forward and met Lucifer’s hand in the centre as they began a circle.

“So, the hint?” Sam tried very hard not to acknowledge the way his eyes drank in Lucifer’s, like there was no-one else here but them. The archangel’s sure, quiet gaze held him as though hypnotized, and Sam almost forgot to switch hands and turn anticlockwise.  
“What do we know about vampires, Sammy?” Lucifer was passed the woman on their left, and Sam got handed to her very disgruntled Republican partner. Well, with life as it was, why not add ‘slow-danced with Republican uncle’ to the list?  
“You cut their heads off to kill them?” Sam hissed as he passed Lucifer by on his circle.  
“Cold.” The Devil continued the dance, and Sam shot a strained smile at his partner. The man huffed, then Sam noted a swath of red creep up his cheeks. Oh no. Oh dear.  
“They don’t like sunlight?” Sam tried on the next pass, but unless Castiel had a Van Helsing sunlight bomb in his edible g-string, that wasn’t helpful.  
“Cold. Think purpose Sammy.”

The hunter sighed in frustration as he wove up the line of half the men who had paused to allow this, caught Mr Republican Uncle’s hand and switched places back into Lucifer’s territory. Well the purpose of this ball was to turn everyone into fucking vampires.  
“They turn people with blood?” Sam took Lucifer’s hands and danced a few slow steps, his body diagonal to the Devil. The side of Lucifer’s mouth picked up.  
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” They moved back and stood still so that the other half of the dancers could weave around them. “Now how would you turn hundreds of people at the same time with blood?”  
Sam wracked his brain. Think like a serial killer, think like a serial killer…well the blood was effectively a kind of poison. Poison usually was taken directly into the bloodstream or through ingestion.  
“Food! Food and drink!” Sam was rewarded with a warm smile, then allowed himself to be French dipped by Satan.  
“Now, if you didn’t want to risk someone not eating the food or having a drink, or someone turning before somebody else…” Lucifer took his hands again, as they repeated the diagonal-step move. What did rich people do? Were there actual dinners at events like this? The ticket had said to eat beforehand…before Sam could pour his confusion onto Lucifer, he was spun off to Dean, while Castiel took Lucifer’s hand with an expression too angry and stiff for such an elegant damsel. 

“Dean, when do rich people eat or drink all together at an event like this?” Sam hissed and circled his brother.  
“Dude, why did you have to be a girl? I have to French dip you!” Dean protested in a way that suggested he had no idea how to distribute the weight of a giant moose-man.  
“Would you rather French dip Lucifer?” Sam gritted out and hung on to his brother’s shoulders, clenched his spectacular abs like his life depended on it as Dean tilted him backwards.  
“Yeah, then I could drop him.” Dean thankfully did not drop Sam, and he was brought back up with the sense of a near brush with Death.  
“So my question?” He and Dean swapped sides, then swapped back.  
“I dunno, a dinner or a toast or something?” Dean shrugged and led him down an aisle of half the still dancers with the other half of the dancers.  
“A toast!” Sam could have kissed his brother except that was a bazillion degrees of weird and he didn’t want the angel pair behind them to get their jealousy smite on. “Dean, we’ve gotta find whatever drink they’re using – champagne probably – because it’ll be laced with vamp blood.”  
“What?” Dean circled away around the still dancer on his side, then dipped back toward Sam in the middle of the aisle.  
“That’s how they’re gonna turn all these people Dean, all at the same time.” These were no low-life run-of-the-mill vampires, it seemed. They had their shit sorted. But their conversation was cut short as the men stepped back into line, and he caught Castiel’s gloved hands to do an in-out step.  
“How’re you doing, Cas?” Sam tried, as the angel still looked pissed at being handed over to Lucifer.  
“Come closer.” Cas grated out, and looked as though he might deal someone a holy pimpslap soon. Sam swallowed, and moved in a little closer on their next step.  
“What?”  
Cas leaned up so close he could feel the angel’s breath on his ear. “Keep it in your pants, you whore of Satan. Or I - “

Whatever threat was about to issue forth was cut off as the angel turned back to Dean with a last, judgemental glare. Wow. Castiel keeping it real. But he couldn’t stay in shock for long, as Lucifer’s hand squeezed tight on his waist.  
“You’re so pretty when you dance.” Lucifer’s nose trailed up his throat, and Sam’s brain sparked out for a second. What had he been talking to Dean about? “You’d do an excellent striptease.”  
“Yeah, you wish.” Sam’s Bad Idea alarm went off again, but he had a talent for ignoring it. He just moved back as the music reached its final chords and bowed. Before he’d even risen full back up, a hard grip caught his jaw, and he looked up to see something dark in Lucifer’s eyes. Sam knew he had a look of shock fixed on his face, but couldn’t look away. For the second time that night, it felt as though it were only him and Lucifer, alone in this place. Heat pulsed up through his throat, and he swallowed as a coil of excitement rushed towards his cock. That one little grip should not have turned him on as much as it had. That grip that _possessed_ him.  
“Oh Sammy.” Lucifer looked like a cat with a mouse right where it wanted it. “You and your smart mouth.”

That hand slid to his chest and the younger Winchester felt himself move backwards, as though in a daze.  
“I don’t think I’m inclined to let that one pass.” Lucifer’s eyes never broke his, that half-lidded, sultry gaze, and Sam got the fright of his life as his back hit an oak-panelled door at the back of the ballroom. He hadn’t even noticed its proximity. The thud of his heart thundered up through his ears, because this wasn’t the soft, gentle Lucifer from last night. This was the Devil, with calculating eyes and an aura of something ancient and dangerous about him, an aura that said Sam was about to become his bitch big time. Not that he was, uh, that adverse to becoming Satan’s bitch, but right now, on a case, when Dean needed help? He swallowed again over his traitorous breath.  
“Lucifer…”  
A blow hit him smack bang in the chest, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to send him against the door so hard that it burst open. Sam, who had a great deal of experience at being thrown through windows, doors, walls, the works, managed to catch himself on the oak-panelled wall in the dark corridor. But before he even had his proper bearings, a warm, rough body pinned him hard against the surface. The impossibly stiff, hot line of Lucifer’s cock pressed tight against his own half-hard arousal and he let out a small groan of desire before he remembered he shouldn’t encourage this. Fuck. _Fuck_. He should really – 

A hand twisted into his hair and wrenched his head to the side, and Sam’s moan echoed down the enclosed space. Telling Lucifer that kink had been a _mistake_. Before he could stop himself, his hips stuttered and it seemed Lucifer took that as an invitation to grind against him like a dog on heat. Hungry lips sucked on his exposed neck so hard it almost hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt, the kind of wild, ferocious pain of passion, paired with that sweet fucking friction – no! Shit, they had a job to do…He pawed Lucifer’s clothing in an attempt to ground himself, to find a rock in this typhoon of pissed off, horny archangel.  
“Lucifer, I need to help Dean, I need to – ahhh!” Sam cried to the ceiling as Lucifer yanked his head back, and the archangel’s body pressed against him even harder if that were possible.  
“You listen to me, boy.” The Devil spat, and the term ‘boy’ shouldn’t have made Sam’s cock jump as violently as it did in his breeches, but it just reminded him of how vast and primeval Lucifer was. He just gasped to the ceiling as his groin throbbed all too obviously against The Devil’s. “I’m going to fuck you senseless. And if, _if_ I’m satisfied, then you can go.”

Ok, Sam knew he could punch himself out of this if he wanted to, hell Lucifer would probably stop if he got pissed and said no. But his cock ached, his mind was in a haze of lust and indecision and, even at the expense of being labelled a subby-sub gay cockslut, wanted to be spun around and pounded into the wall. Yet Sam didn’t even have time to dwell on that mental image, because the hand in his hair dragged down, and he found himself being hauled through the corridor like some disobedient brat. The hunter denied that a whine crept up his throat, because grown men didn’t whine, especially those that hacked up supernatural beasts for a living. The floor changed from polished wood to carpet, but Sam couldn’t even see the room they’d entered past the curtain of his now-loose hair that wasn’t gripped in Lucifer’s hand and the blur of his watering eyes. A grunt whooshed out his chest as Lucifer tossed him front-first on to what appeared to be a long, rich brown table, and the situation plunged straight to his cock. Oh fuck. Lucifer had fucking bent him over a table. Well, he was here now, and the ball might go on for hours before the toast at the end. True, Lucifer might fuck him for hours, but after being such a bitch, he may deserve that one. The hand in his hair latched on to the back of his collar, and Sam pushed his arms and shoulders back to allow the jacket to be ripped off. Fuck, fuck, he was so ready, he could be good for Lucifer, he could take it again and again and again until Lucifer’s come dripped out of him around the archangel’s cock…the thought of that made Sam clench his fingers against the table. Oh God. No matter how much of a defiant bastard he was, in all truth he really couldn’t wait.

 

Lucifer burned as he eyed that perfect, round ass laid out in front of him. True, anyone with any inkling of who he was might ask what the fuck was this all about. But hey, being the king of sin meant he got to live by his own fucking rules and get fucking tempted. Ok, if he started looking at any human other than Sam with inexcusable desire, then maybe he needed to have a crisis. But right now, he didn’t care. That ass had been driving him insane all day, and he needed to be so deep in it that it hit his hips. 

He kicked Sam’s feet apart with such ferocity that the hunter’s full weight collapsed on the table and punched the breath out of his body with a loud huff. Before Sam could even respond, Lucifer reached around, tore open the buttons on the man’s breeches and peeled them down with sharp tugs to expose the tanned globes of Sam’s ass, perfectly cupped by that tight, white jockstrap. _The fucking moans_. Sam sounded like he was already being fucked, and had his face half-covered in his own messy hair. For now. Satan had plans for that pretty hair. With one hand, he pulled the catches on his own breeches undone, and with the other he pinned Sam down hard, and the hunter’s legs jolted out even further with need. Lucifer wanted to give Sam as little warning as possible, just to see what noise he would make. So when he tugged his erection free, Lucifer spread Sam’s cheeks and let a swell of power relax and stretch the muscles and coat the inside of his human with lube. He didn’t even give Sam a second to realize what he’d done; Lucifer bent over his lover, hot with anticipation, angled himself right, then thrust deep into the hunter’s body hard and fast. Oh shit. The tight bind convulsed around him, milked his cock, and had Satan push his hand even harder on Sam’s back with teeth gritted against the perfect, sudden heat. The sound Sam made was between a coarse scream and a yell; his fingernails clawed down the pristine, varnished surface with tracks of paler wood in their wake. A thrill of pleasure shot up Lucifer’s stomach with such violence that he gave a grunt of delight, then realized it was too strong, and not all his; Sam was gonna come right there and then if he didn’t do something about it.

“Oh no you don’t.” The Devil conjured a tight cock-ring around Sam’s member and didn’t even let Sam finish his shaky moan of frustration. He didn’t deserve a reprieve for being such a little smart ass. Lucifer balled the hand that had been on Sam’s back into that long hair, and pulled his spine up into an arch in the same moment that he snapped his hips forward in an unforgiving rhythm. Even after three quick pumps over his prostate, the hunter was gone. His eyes rolled, his fingers spasmed and ruined the surface with scratches, and rough cries tore out his arched throat as he was fucked out of his head over the table, and Satan drank in the sight like a man parched of water. Oh fuck, the way Sam _lost it_ was too much, the way he went from a straight-laced little nerd to a cock slut that made better noises than a porn star had Lucifer caught up in a tidal wave of lust. The head of his dick throbbed inside this open, young body as Sam shivered and squeezed him, and he rammed against Sam’s tight walls with a hot roughness he revelled in as it echoed back on to him. As an archangel, he could have fucked Sam until the sun rose and then some, but his vessel already quivered and shook, and pulled him down with it.  
“Please!” Sam suddenly near-sobbed and smacked the table like a martial arts tap-out as he writhed on Lucifer’s cock, unable to come from the tight ring around his dick. “Oh fuck, please, please, please!”  
“What do you say to me, you little bitch?” Lucifer growled, and just picked up the pace even more, like a rutting ram. His vision sparked at the tightness in his balls as Sam’s body smacked into him and a coil of impossible, tense heat wracked down his legs. Sam bucked, as if he could escape Lucifer’s onslaught, and let out throaty cries as the thrusts punched into him so hard and fast, they ripped his voice away. The hunter’s neck and forehead beaded with sweat, and there was something damn sexy about fucking someone this hard while they were still in their clothes.  
“Apologize and I _might_ let you go.” Lucifer somehow managed out, although his voice was scudded by the force of his thrusts.  
“Sorry, sorry, sorry – “ Sam sobbed, garbled, completely fucked out of his head. “Sorry, I love you, please let me come, please _please!_ ”

Lucifer almost froze when he heard that, but his body was on animalistic autopilot. No, Sam was out of his mind and didn’t know what he was saying. Sam wouldn’t remember, and Lucifer would forget, and he wouldn’t have to think about something as painful as love. So Lucifer dissolved the cock ring, and gave the hunter’s hair a ferocious yank as he bruised the top of Sam’s thighs against the table edge with the power in his hips.  
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t – oh, oh God!” Sam cried, his body convulsed, and he threw himself back on Lucifer’s cock as those muscles shook then tensed. Even the mention of his father didn’t cut the Devil’s mood; his dick throbbed with desperate pleasure, and he let out a harsh groan as his balls jumped up and that delicious rush of heat raced up his cock. He loved it. He loved spraying his seed in Sam so much, like it claimed the human as his, because Sam was his. Sam had always been his, and would always be his, and it seemed every time he fucked the tall hunter and came inside him, he laid the foundations of his claim even deeper. 

Lucifer caught himself on his elbows, curled over Sam as his spent cock pulsed, oversensitive in his lover’s spasming tunnel. Sam’s face was wet with tears, his hair sticky with sweat and his body beneath Lucifer rippled and convulsed against the table. Gorgeous.  
He slid out of the hunter’s body, and cleaned up the mess of come and lube on both of them. Then the archangel noted Sam’s hand shift up to his own face, as if he were ashamed of himself or his tears. Lucifer’s hand snapped onto his wrist and pinned it on to the table, and he leaned up to press his whole body against the hunter’s.  
“Don’t feel ashamed, Sammy. Not with me.” He murmured and kissed up that damp cheek. Salt simmered on his lips and Sam seemed to relax a little. There was no snarky comment, although Lucifer hoped he hadn’t broken him out of it; that was all part of the fun. “Now that’s better. You’re such a good little creature.”  
“No I’m not. I’m a freak and a disappointment with anger issues.” Sam mumbled into the table, and despite the tear that tracked down the hunter’s cheek, Lucifer couldn’t help an ironic chuckle.  
“You know you just described me, right?” He caught that tear with a kiss, then snagged the edge of Sam’s lips. “You’re not a freak to me, you’re perfect. You’re anything but a disappointment. And I haven’t felt true rage in you since I arrived, Sammy. Plus your apology for being a sassy bitch was – ”  
Lucifer nuzzled his jaw with his nose and lips. “ – more than adequate.”  
That earned weak smile, and something inside Lucifer warmed.  
“Do you want me to stop being a sassy bitch?” Sam nudged his body under Lucifer’s in a snuggling kind of way, and Lucifer moved his grip from Sam’s wrist to cover the back of his tanned hand.  
“Mmm, no, I like your apologies too much.” Lucifer hummed with a smirk on his lips, and that earned a laugh.  
“Then can I go and help Dean now?” Sam grinned like he knew he was a little shit, but somehow Lucifer was just glad he was happier again.  
“Maybe. If you call me ‘sir’.” Lucifer teased, and kinda surprised himself at how well he was taking this intimacy. Well he was destined to be squooshed up by Sam’s soul, so compared to that, this wasn’t huge.  
“Fuck off.” Sam smiled beneath him, and Lucifer pushed up off his back a little so he held himself a few inches off the hunter.  
“What about Daddy?” He hadn’t really known where that suggestion came from, but was rewarded when Sam just about choked.  
“Dude, seriously.”

Lucifer grinned, leaned back and flicked his hand to do up his own breeches. The desire in him was sated for now, but the Devil didn’t really expect that to last long. Fucking Sam was just too fun.  
“Fine. If you can stand.” Lucifer could feel the bruised pulse on Sam’s thighs where he’d been rammed repeatedly into the table, but wanted to watch Sam try at least before he healed anything.  
“Ugh.” Sam groaned and tried to peel himself off the table, breeches still around his thighs, but his knees collapsed before he made it upright. Lucifer watched that bare ass with a smug smirk.  
“This is revenge isn’t it?” Sam huffed and managed to get a little further this time.  
“Mmhmm. Best served fast, hard and in the ass.” He gave one of those domes of muscle a little squeeze and Sam made a low noise of appreciation as he reached for the waistband of his breeches.  
“Yeah, next time I’ll _really_ have to piss you off.” Sam just had no self-preservation instinct did he?  
“What, that wasn’t enough for you?” Satan considered pushing Sam up against the wall and giving him another good pounding, but that seemed too predictable.  
“I could take more.” Sam smirked. Oh he’d get this kid, but when he least expected it. And next time, Lucifer would take up the challenge good and proper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it continues! :D Man, I'd just really like to thank all of you for your awesome comments, you're all so amazing and make me so happy c: Also super duper excited about forrestwyrms fanart! :D :D Check out their work of Dongle the Demon [here](http://forrestwyrm.tumblr.com/post/151950375651/here-is-my-first-fanart-for-hadestheblingkings), an illustration for the general mayhem [ here ](http://forrestwyrm.tumblr.com/post/152041221716/i-know-im-repeating-my-self-but-read-this) and Castiel's 'what the frick frack' reaction to Dean [ here](http://forrestwyrm.tumblr.com/post/152164089696/another-one-d-link-to)! Aw, I'm so honoured and excited to have people creating things around my work (つ≧▽≦)つ⊂(・ヮ・⊂) As always, I would love to hear what you thought of the chapter and stay awesome everyone ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	14. In Which Castiel Needs To Touch It And The Vampires Find Out What Happens When They Touch Dean

Dean blamed Lucifer for everything. For Cas looking hot, for making Dean realize Cas looked hot even without the drag, for this stupid situation…just everything.  
“Hey, don’t I know you two?” The second the dance ended, an Indian lady who he swore he’d seen before made him turn away from Cas’s huge blue eyes. Like seriously. Whatever that stupid archangel had done with his mascara, eyeshadow and eyeliner had made them like not-so-miniature skies of their own. Before Dean could think about the second troublesome makeup choice Lucifer had made with Castiel’s lips, he was hit by an 18-wheeler of _‘oh shit’._  
“Agent Cronin?” Head of Police, Cara Pulby’s eyebrows dipped, then she turned to look at Cas. “And…Agent Daughtry?”  
“Yeah.” Dean shot her his most winning smile and wondered what was going through her head as Cas stared at the lady. “We’re undercover working our case, so maybe keep it on the downlow.”  
Cara’s eyes slid back to Cas again, and Cas’ eyes narrowed as if he dared her to diss his pretty dress. There was a moment of silence wherein Dean could almost hear her internal scream of ‘fucking what’, but then she kinda shrugged.  
“Carry…on then I guess.”  
Dean gave her what he hoped was a friendly nod and not a strained ‘my life is going to shit and the only thing I live for is a crossdressing angel’ sort of nod, then turned to Sam. Or not Sam. A Sam-shaped space with traces of ‘Lucifer was here’ written all over it.

“Cas.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut, pinched his nose and gestured to the lack of both Sam and Satan.  
“They are gone.” Cas, being the ever-helpful celestial being that he was helped him admire the spot where Sam was no longer.  
“Gee, thanks Cas. Any idea where?” Dean opened his eyes and performed a wild gesture/exasperated shrug combo.  
“Sam is warded from me. Lucifer is concealed also. However perhaps we should be glad of this…concealment.” Cas side-eyed him in a haunted kind of way that said he’d definitely rather not be a voyeur to their brothers’ kinky shit again. Dean was 100% on board with that one, but he could feel an argument brewing down in his belly. Sam should know better, and this was a dangerous line he walked. It was like Ruby all over again; Lucifer would get his hooks into the idiot Dean called a brother with honeyed words and a motherload of temptation, butter him up, then use him. And in this case ‘using Sam’ meant ‘using Sam as an angel condom to spit-roast humanity’. The stupid thing was though, that around Ruby Sam had always seemed cautious, rough and even uncomfortable at times. With Lucifer, he laughed. He laughed like he hadn’t done for years, and smiled and seemed so happy and carefree to the extent of stupidity because Sam either didn’t realize that Lucifer had to be playing him, or didn’t care. But that was Sam’s choice. Dean squared his shoulders and looked about. They had a job to do, whether Sam wanted to be part of it or not. He had Cas, who’d never betrayed him for demons, who’d given his life to help Dean stop his brother, who had never released the Devil by accident and then decided to date him, and who actually looked fantastic both in and out a dress. 

Dean turned to his little angel and put a hand on that bare shoulder, then got the full force of blue-eyed, innocent, slightly hopeful Cas looking up at him through long eyelashes with glossy curls of black hair in a lush frame around his face, and choked slightly.  
“Uh…” Dean looked away from swimming anime eyes before him and tried again. “I think there’s some champagne around…here that’s laced with vampire blood. It’s probably meant for the end of the night. Do you think you could find it?”  
Before he could blink Castiel was gone, and by the time he’d finished the blink, Castiel was back.  
“It is in the kitchens, in a special rack.” The angel grated out, but even such a deep voice paired with the outfit seemed kinda right. “I am cut off from Heaven, so my powers are diminished, however an angel of any level of power, even a half fallen one, can purify substances.”  
“Did…you?” Dean tried with a squint, which Castiel matched. They were somehow only inches away again. How did it always end up like this?  
“Do I look like someone who can stand in a kitchen, open every single bottle of champagne and touch it without being noticed, Dean?” Cas raised his eyebrows like the sarcastic hoe he was, but Dean had to agree.  
“You need to touch it?” Dean felt as though he kinda wanted to touch something else right now.  
“I need to touch it.” Cas tilted his head up and confirmed, and they both looked at each other’s lips and swallowed at the same time. “There was a stack of crates I could use for cover if you handed me the bottles.”  
Cas lifted his zapping fingers, but Dean stepped back.  
“Whoa, whoa. I’m gonna be just as obvious as you in this getup.” He looked around, and a plan which probably was the worst plan in existence hatched in his mind.

This was probably the worst plan in existence, Castiel thought as they approached the kitchens. Well, other than trying to hold off Raphael and his heralds all by himself. At least with this one he wouldn’t end up dead.  
“Now, you remember everything I said?” Dean whispered in his ear, even though there was music and talking, and they were precisely two inches away from each other. It was a nice kind of two inches though. In fact he wished that Dean would always be this close. Or closer.  
“I remember the birth of humanity, Dean. And that was several billion years ago. Of course I remember.” Castiel side-eyed Dean to check whether that was the answer he sought. He was met by slight shock, then a strange kind of ‘done’ look, but it was a bit difficult to tell. Cas still often got human emotions confused.  
“Awesome.” Dean patted his back. “Go get ‘em tiger.”  
Castiel shot Dean another furtive side-eye, decided that this was up there with the den of inequity in bad ideas, and headed towards the guards by the kitchen. Dean slunk off into the shadows of the pillared space and for a moment the angel wondered why his friend couldn’t have done this. Surely Dean had more experience and knew the arena much better. Castiel could stab things. Give him a good demon, angel or monster to stab and by his Father, he would stab the shit out of it. But this?

“Ma’am! You shouldn’t be here.” One of the vampire guards called from their station beside the kitchen doors, and Castiel shot them a glance. Unbeknownst to him, what he thought was a sort of confused, weird, wide-eyed look happened to translate into a doe-eyed, innocent, even frightened plea, which melted both guards into vampiric butter. The angel recalled his Dean’s instructions and tried to stumble with conviction against a pillar, and the guards beheld a gorgeous damsel with a look of fierce concentration trying and failing to properly stand against a column.  
“Ma’am are you ok?” One of the guards started forward, and Castiel took that as his cue for the next step. He fell. Like a sack of potatoes. Face first into the floor. But what he lacked in grace, he appeared to have made up with in beauty, as both guards rushed over. One tilted him over and held the angel in his arms, as the other one pressed a hand against his forehead. Behind them Dean slipped into the kitchen to go strangle and hog-tie a kitchenhand.  
“Ma’am?” The guard asked again, but Castiel just stared at him. Dean, for some reason, had expressly forbad him to speak, so he just stared. The poor vampire was absorbed by the angelic void for a moment. Oh. Perhaps he should have pretended to be passed out. Castiel forgot that was something humans did in times of weakness. So he closed his eyes and waited for Dean to pray to him. It took a few minutes, and the vampires, if they hadn’t been bewildered before, were even more confused when the beautiful lady, who would probably haul in a bunch of man meat when turned, just vanished into thin air.

So it came to be that Castiel, Angel of the Lord, of Thursday and sorrow found himself crammed behind a stack of crates as Michael’s vessel slipped him champagne to uncork without explosion and bless. He wished he could just smite all the vampires and be gone, but he didn’t have the power anymore and Dean seemed adamant that they wait till when the vampires either let the guests go or showed their true colours before any of the stabbing could take place. Then the Winchesters and company would, apparently, be justified in their slaughter in the human gaze. Perhaps that’s why Lucifer wasn’t smiting anyone either – sure Raphael and Michael loved a good smiting, but Gabriel and Lucifer had always liked the hands-on approach a little bit more. He’d want to rip some limbs. 

Then again, Castiel could agree at this point as he shoved his pure, angelic finger into the last bottle. Ripping some limbs or more dancing with Dean both seemed great plans. So long as he didn’t get handed to the Fallen Dragon of Sin again, who seemed to find it fun to list off the amount of women Dean had been with. Why the Devil would even think of doing that, Castiel didn’t know. At all. He also seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with Sam’s ass. Castiel had to agree, that as far as rear ends went, the Winchesters were blessed, but Sam really needed to keep his ass to himself where Lucifer was concerned.  
“Alright, I guess we zap back out and wait.” Dean shrugged and stepped over the unfortunate bitch boy who’d run into his grapple ambush first. He shucked off the shirt and pants with the ease of a man who’d been stripping in shady locations for years, and the angel found that there was an odd hypnotic effect about it.  
“Uh, excuse me Cas?”  
“You are excused, Dean.”  
“No, like…do you mind?” Dean gestured to himself half undressed, and Castiel frowned a little in confusion.  
“No. Carry on.” He delivered with zero amount of suaveness, but Dean opened and closed his mouth for a second then did exactly that. Wow, Dean actually doing what he was told. This was a moment history, and would have been somewhat notable if they hadn’t already been in the greatest cataclysmic event since The Archangelic Prank Wars of the early millions BCE. He always wondered how humans explained the giant, ridiculous lizard-beasts Gabriel had transformed Raphael’s rock sculptures into. Sure, most dinosaurs were actually reasonable, but the longisquama? At least that ridiculous beast had died out, unlike the Gaebul and the Atretochoana whose distinctive shape was always there to remind the world how crude and inappropriate Lucifer and Gabriel could get on a dare.  
“Back to the ball then, Cinderella?” A fully-dressed Dean offered his arm to him, and although the name rang a bell, it had been lost somewhere so he gave Dean a blank stare and took the arm.  
Castiel was so glad his holy, trans-plane, eon old wings were being put to such fantastic use and flew back into the ballroom.

 

“Excuse me.” An elegant lady Cas had identified as a vamp approached them with her Edward Cullen of a partner. Dean almost expected Cas to deadpan out ‘you are excused’ again, but apparently Dean was the only one Cas excused.  
“Yeah?” Dean turned and spotted Sam searching like a tall periscope through the crowd for him. Well Sammy would have to learn that he wasn’t the only one who could poof off and get missed.  
“Would you come with me, please?” She gave a polite smile with undertones of murder. Ah.  
“I’m enjoying the party as it is.” Dean shot her his most winning smile but didn’t appear to have won.  
“What I’m trying to say, sir, is that your names nor profiles appear on the guest list.” The pale blonde smiled again, but this time Dean noted two security guards at the wall shift forward a little. Really what she’d been trying to say was ‘your girlfriend fucking vanished in front of two guards and we need to check this shit out’, but Dean didn’t know that. “I would like to sort your situation out with Mr Vornski as quickly as possible.”

Sorted as in vamped or ganked. But hey, Dean had a machete in this long coat with dead-man’s blood, not to mention 150lbs of protective, super-strong warrior of God.  
“Alright then, lead on I guess.” Dean shrugged and pulled out his phone to send a text to Mimi, Patrique and Sam that read two words: Plan B. So much for the subtle strat.  
They all knew what that meant, and hopefully Sam had coerced Satan onto their side with whatever they’d disappeared off to do, because Plan B was the plan they had not hoped to use.

They were led through a set of hallways, far enough away from the ballroom to muffle any annoying screams victims might have. A door was opened for them, and inside stood Mr Vornski, picture straight from his smug mayoral campaign, smack bang in the middle four guards.  
“Mr Winchester, I presume? I thought you Winchesters were smart, and here you are, walking right into our arms.” Mr Vorski, a tallish older dude in one of those white wigs 1600’s naval officers used to wear, made the same mistake as every monster that underestimated the Winchesters. The vampire looked him over, then shot a pervy glance at Cas. It wasn’t really a surprise this vamp recognized Dean – after all, his face had been plastered all over the news, and he’d ganked enough vamps to get recognized. A guard came up behind him and held his arms with superhuman strength. Hmm, that might be a problem.  
“We’ll find your brother too, don’t you worry.” The pale blonde chick in her silvery dress smirked and crossed her arms beside Mr Vornski. Dean couldn’t wait to chop that smile off her dial.  
“Oh I wouldn’t mess with us if I were you. Especially Sam.” He gave them his best smarmy smile. They needed a distraction. One little thing to make this vampire’s grip slip just a little…  
“But why not, Mr Winchester? You two are such fine specimens, not to mention your squeeze here. She’ll pull in men like flies to sticky-paper.” The old man vampire ran a hand down Castiel’s cheek, and the angel just looked a little confused, then frowned as Vornski undid his sleeve button and moved toward Dean.  
“Touch him and I will kill you.” Cas growled in his deep, manly, gravel-chewing voice, and all the vampires stared in shock for a moment. Whelp, that was as good of a distraction as any. Without hesitation, Dean wrenched his arms loose and threw his head back to butt the guard, only to have his throat gripped by Mr Vornski. Apparently that counted as touching Dean. 

The next thing the hunter knew, Cas threw his own guard 12 feet across the room then proceeded to hook his hand under Vornski’s chin and rip his head clean off. Holy shit. Dean made a note to himself: Do not piss off Castiel.  
The other vampires kind of just froze in shock. Dean supposed it wasn’t every day they came up against a transvestite who could rip a vamp’s head off with their bare hands. But in the Vornskis moment of extreme ‘what the fuck’, Dean slid out his machete with a grin.  
“Who’s the smart ones now, assholes?”  
All four vampires seemed to suddenly realize why the Winchesters were the monsters that momma and daddy monsters told their spawn hid in the closet or under the bed. Dean really had no idea how many stories had been passed around about him coming out of the closet, but the vampires wouldn’t have got a chance to tell him even if they’d wanted to. Because their lives were about to be cut short by an overprotective, crossdressing angel and a bandy-legged terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D :D Happy Halloween! :D :D
> 
> There's the little adventures of Cas and Dean! Hopefully it was ok without Sam and Lucifer for a bit D: Also, I had such a strong image of what Cas looked like with his "weird, wide-eyed look that happened to translate into a doe-eyed, innocent, even frightened plea" that I made this photoedit ages ago when I finished the chapter (sorry for not the best photoshop skills! Imma just starting).  
>  You can also see it on [my blog.](http://swaglexander-the-great.tumblr.com/) Forrestwyrm also did another awesome drawing of drag!Cas and Dean! I love all your drawings so much! Check it out [here](http://forrestwyrm.tumblr.com/post/152526868181/yet-another-thing-for-inseparable) n.n (I can put it in the comments too if you want? c: ) As always, I would love to hear what you thought of the chapter and thank you so much for all your comments and kudos so far! Y'all are amazing and positive and it's really wonderful to interact with all of you. Stay awesome my buddies! ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ )*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	15. In Which Sam And Lucifer Get New Nicknames And Mimi Explodes Everything

Sam caught sight of Dean just as his older brother left the ballroom. To be honest with himself, he was still a little out of it; he’d had good fucks before, true (on the giving end instead), but he’d never had that kind of emotional response. Winchester tears were more rare than mermaid ones, and Lucifer’d had him sobbing from pleasure, from need, from some deep, deep kind of satisfaction that came with every time the archangel filled him up and owned him... It…that reaction was dangerous, because as much as Sam didn’t want to admit it or even acknowledge it, he knew what he’d said. He knew what he’d garbled out in between his broken apologies, he knew he’d told the Lucifer that he loved him and hated the fact that it might be true. The fact that he never felt lonely or angry or judged or frustrated or weak anymore was down to how Lucifer treated him, how Lucifer always looked at him like he was everything that mattered in the world. It sucked ass, really. Trust him to fall in love with actual Satan. No, Sam wasn’t quite ready to admit this was more than the oxytocin talking, but if it got worse…jeez, what should he do? Wax poetic shit at the Dark Lord? Sob at him again? Punch him in the face and scream ‘I love you motherfucker’ ? All of those options seemed equally as stupid, so Sam tried the Dean technique and shoved under a pile of spare angst so it could rear its ugly head in the middle of the night and make him drink himself into a comatose of questionable morals.

“You doin’ ok Sammy?” Lucifer’s confident hand smoothed down from between Sam’s shoulders to the dip of his lower back, and the touch grounded him back into the present. Satan left The Butt alone, probably because if he didn’t they’d end up rutting in a broom cupboard somewhere while Dean and Cas got molested by vampires.  
“Yeah, I – “ Sam’s phone dinged from the inner jacket pocket Lucifer had so helpfully provided, due to his unhelpful sizing of Sam’s breeches. The message was from Dean and simply said ‘Plan B’. Oh jeez.  
“Mmm, don’t make me jealous of a phone, Sam.” Lucifer’s arm slid around his waist and that scruffy chin rested on his shoulder.  
“You needy fuck.” Sam muttered, but kissed the Devil on the cheek because he was feeling generous. “It’s time for Plan B apparently, the one where we set everything on fire then murder an army of vampires and try not to die horribly.”  
“Oh finally.” Lucifer sighed, and Sam looked at him in surprise.  
“I thought you weren’t down for helping us take out vamps.” His phone dinged again, this time from Mimi. It said ‘I will explode the back of the ballroom with alcohol. Be ready.’ 

Sam cast a glance over there, and noted it was almost clear as a dance was taking place at the front of the hall. He kinda mourned the damage that’d do to this beautiful building, but if it would stop years of vampire-human trafficking, then what had to be done had to be done.  
“Oh no, Sammy, you and me on a killing spree together sounds like the most erotic thing we can do with our clothes on.” Lucifer slid off Sam’s shoulder and pressed a finger to his own bottom lip as those pale eyes looked the hunter up and down. “And you’ll look so pretty painted in red.”  
Sam tried his damnedest to not glow under the compliment or get a demanding hard-on from the blatant sex-stare, but, thank goodness, it seemed Lucifer had thoroughly fucked it out of him for now.  
“You’re turned on by the weirdest things.” Sam huffed and shot a glance toward the back of the room again. He’d had just enough experience with the angry French woman to harbour serious worries about whether there would be any wall left after she exploded everything.  
“You’re not weird, Sam. You’re perfect.” Lucifer smirked, and heat crept up Sam’s cheeks. That was the second time Lucifer had called him perfect, and Sam seriously didn’t understand how he could think that. Sam was as far away from perfect as the moon was from Earth. Then again, what the fuck classed as perfect for Satan? And maybe he should be more worried about that than how happy it made him. Jeez.  
“I didn’t mean – “

_BOOM_

Flames erupted at the back of the hall, and Sam stood back and listened to the theme song of his life – people running and screaming.  
“Everybody move to the exits please!” Sam caught the nearest human and directed their group towards where they’d entered. “I’m with the FBI, please move to the nearest exit.”  
“Couldn’t we just kill the guests too?” Lucifer sighed as he watched Sam be a sheepdog to humans. Up further, Officer Pulby and Patrique seemed to be doing the same. “I mean they’re all stuck-up, righteous assholes anyway.”  
Sam sent him a weary glare, but didn’t reply. If Lucifer started snapping necks, he’d just stab himself with a machete, but he’d really thought they were past all this. Around the edges, the security guards seemed unsure what to do, but unbeknownst to Sam, that was because their boss had just been suddenly and violently decapitated by a possessive, cross-dressing angel.

As soon as everybody seemed to have a grasp of where the herd was going, Sam turned to his Satanic buddy with a little more excitement than was necessary, or maybe he was just affected by Lucifer’s own anticipation. But some part of him really loved the idea of just letting go and getting into some good old justified hack n’ slash. Mimi and Patrique would make sure all the guests got to safety and that the members of police who’d attended were distracted, but they only had so much time until the fire department showed up. They were quite a way out in the country, so although response time would be longer, it didn’t give them much time to mess around.  
“Showtime?” Lucifer shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow with a roguish wink, and for once, Sam just sent a grin back.  
“Showtime.” 

  
James Bordwell, son of Mayor Bordwell, crouched frozen behind a condiment table. The explosion had knocked him into the wall, dazed him, and when he’d regained his senses, everyone had left. Everyone apart from two men and the security guards. He’d been about to mewl for help like the pathetic rich kid he was, when the tall one had drawn a huge knife, ducked under a swing from a security guard and then lopped the man’s head right off. The blonde man didn’t even bother with a knife, just punched a hole straight through one, then tore his victim’s head from his neck. Now, James was no doctor, but he was pretty sure you had to be on some extreme dose of bath salts to rip a head off. Oh God. What had he done wrong in life to be abandoned in a burning building with Bath Salt Maniac and Murdersauros over there? Had it been the hookers?

Bath Salts grabbed another guy and just tore him in half. With his drugged-up, crazy bare hands. James cried a single tear of fear.  
“That’s two, kiddo!” The mad blonde called to Murdersauros, who shot him a bright white grin. Well, at least James would have died seeing the perfect teeth. Seriously, why had this guy chosen a life of serial killing instead of toothpaste advertisements?  
“Oh, we’re counting are we?” The tall brunette ducked under two more security guards that had come at him to save their brethren, then spun and stabbed one in the neck with a needle full of red goo. Oh Jesus, were they dosing the guards up with bath salts too? Was everyone gonna become a manic, flesh-ripping cannibal? Murdersauros then kicked the gun out of the second guard’s hand as Bath Salts came up behind him and did his head-ripping party trick.  
“Hey, that one was mine!” The taller guy protested. They were insane. They were both insane. So James did the logical, clever thing that anyone trapped with two high serial killers would do; took out his phone and filmed it.

“Mmm, you’ve gotta be quick around here.” Bath Salts laughed, then moved up real close to Murdersauros. “You’ve got a bit of…”  
Then shit got gay.  
The older blonde leaned up and lapped the blood right off his giant homosexual murderer’s jaw. Murdersauros let out a strangely carefree laugh for having blood sensually licked off his face by a drugged, insane man, then got distracted by a moan at his feet, presumably by the dude he’d needled.  
“Want me to get that, or – “ Bath Salts offered and glanced at the floor; the table cut off what James could see at the waist, so he couldn’t see the poor man about to be fucking decapitated.  
“Fuck you, you already stole one of mine.” The tall man dipped below James’ line of sight, which he was kind of glad of – he’d seen enough blood and guts to last a lifetime.  
“Hey, while you’re down there…” There was a crunch, and Bath Salts smirked like a teacher proud of his student. Maybe that was what this was. Some…drugged up, mafia, murder-spree initiation ceremony thing.  
“Time and place, you horny bastard.” Came the muffled reply, from what James hoped was just from the table being in the way, not a weird post-murder dick sucking and the blonde just laughed. Murdersauros rose back up and turned to look at a side door. “There’s probably more this way. What’s the score?”  
“3-2 to me.” Bath Salts smirked and flicked a spatter of blood off his fingers.  
“Well get your game face on, cause I’m about to even it up.” The taller guy headed out the door with blondie in hot pursuit. James tapped off the recording, then realized that perhaps the smart thing to do when trapped with homoerotic, drugged-up murderers was to call the police. So, with hands that trembled, he dialled 911.  
“911, what’s your emergency?” A woman replied.  
“Two men just murdered five security guards at the Vornski mansion.” He managed out in barely a whisper. “It’s also on fire. I think they’re insane.”  
“We’ll send officers to your location immediately.”  
He gave her the exact address, curled up in his corner and hoped the fire didn’t spread quick enough to make him choose between death by Bath Salt Maniac and death by flambé extra crispy.

To say Sam was enjoying this a bit too much was an understatement. He’d never really delighted in killing supernatural creatures a _huge_ deal or gone full slaughter maniac like Dean had a couple of times, but it was his job and he did it well. Yet Lucifer was one of the best hunting partners he’d had, not because he knew that he was untouchable when the archangel was around, it was just the way he handled killing.  
The counting game was somehow satisfying competition, he’d compliment Sam on a particularly stylish kill, he’d keep up casual banter as they hacked through the security guards they met, unlike Dean’s stony murder-silence and…it was just _fun_ , fun in a way chopping vamps had never been before.  
“What’s that, 10 all now?” Sam wiped a spot of blood from under his nose – they had to be real careful with vamp blood unless they wanted to go Twilight themselves. Well, it probably didn’t matter with Lucifer around to be honest, but it was good to keep up the habits.  
“Spot on, Sammy.” Lucifer winked, white shirt and arms drenched in crimson. Sam almost mentally berated himself for the thought that the bloodred looked as good as any other red on the blonde archangel, but then remembered he was sleeping with Satan. That had to have the perks of being allowed a few fucked-up thoughts, and plus it was only vampire blood…

“Sam!” Dean called out from along the hallway, and Cas strode along behind him, blue gown spattered with crimson. It seemed they’d been doing some annihilation themselves. “We got the family back there and a couple of guards.”  
“Yeah, we finished the guards I think.” Sam looked over at Lucifer who nodded to affirm he couldn’t sense any more lurking in the huge hallways.  
“Better clean up then.” Dean nudged the bodies closer together to resemble a small pile. Suddenly Castiel looked up and his eyes widened.  
“Dean, we should leave.” He grabbed the older Winchester’s shoulder, but nothing happened.  
“Hands on your heads, drop your weapons immediately or we will fire!” Came the authoritative bark of what Sam recognized through multiple experiences as either a SWAT Team or police. He wondered which one they’d been deemed important enough for this time. Sam let his machete drop to the ground and looked around for Lucifer. Gone. That motherfucker.  
“This is all really amusing for you isn’t it, Satan?” Sam muttered as he put his hands where the police could see them.  
“What can I say, I want to see you in handcuffs.” Came a murmur in his ear and Sam shot a maximum-power bitchface at the thin air beside him.  
“I hate you.” He sighed as an officer forced him on to his knees, and could firmly believe that Lucifer and Gabriel had been the bestest of friends once upon a time.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little bit of a filler, but the next chapter is one of my favs, so hang in there ;) Lucifer is just trouble ay? Thanks to forrestwyrm for even more art! It's amazing :D [Here's](http://forrestwyrm.tumblr.com/post/152780674861/dean-in-costume-cas-in-a-dress-cas-in-a-dress) one of Castiel getting his head-ripping on, and [here's](http://forrestwyrm.tumblr.com/post/152780591996/fun-samifer-thing-inspired-by-inseparable-by) one of Lucifer lookin' quite dapper :P As always, I'd love to hear what you thought of that chapter and thank to everyone who has left kudos and comments; seriously reading them is a highlight of my week. I can't believe this is some peoples' favourite fanfic and that people show it to their friends and laugh so much reading it...I just (/ω＼) ᵀʰᵃᶰᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒ ˢᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed, and stay awesome everybody! （*＾ワ＾*）  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	16. In Which The Police Are Even More Confused And Sam And Lucifer Are Little Shits

Today was not getting less insane for Head of Police, Cara Pulby. Not only had the party quite literally exploded, but it turned out that two of the Blue Steel FBI Agents were the insane Winchester brothers that had apparently risen from the flames of a helicopter crash to torment the world some more. The other one was Jimmy Novak, who’d been missing from his home for over a year now. Not to mention a video recorded by James Bordwell, their sole witness, had featured Nick Aquino, a missing person’s case from Delaware, but was now nowhere to be found. Cara sighed, brushed down the uniform she’d just changed into and headed toward Novak’s interview room. He’d probably be the easiest to either charge or clear; the case was a strange one: the Vornski family and all thirty of their security guards had been mauled and decapitated. Both Winchesters had been found with bloody machetes, which accounted for some of the murders, but others…some of them looked as though they’d been ripped apart by the Hulk or something. James Bordwell had insisted he’d seen Mr. Aquino rip a guy’s head off, but Bordwell had concussion and was a bit...well a bit of an idiot at the best of times. It was literally impossible for a human to rip another human’s head off with sheer strength.

“Mr Novak.” Cara took a seat opposite the transvestite, who still was a stunning beauty even spattered with blood. She really should ask who’d done his makeup and what brand, because that shit had lasted through fire, vigorous exercise and the passage of time without a single hitch.  
“My name is Castiel.” The man grated with his deep, deep voice. “I am an angel of the lord.”  
How he delivered that with utter seriousness, Cara had no clue. Unless he was insane. Which would make sense.  
“Alright then…Castiel.” She continued and scribbled ‘possibly insane’ on her notes. “You do realize you are filed as a missing person?”  
“I understand. My vessel was missed, but he was killed by the archangel Raphael.” Jimmy – or Castiel as he probably wanted her to call him – said with utter conviction. “Fear not for him; he is in Heaven.”  
Cara glanced at the two-way window in confusion, then scribbled ‘batshit insane’ on her notes.  
“Castiel – you want to be called Castiel, right?” She carried on when the man nodded. “Are you on any medication?”  
“No. I am an angel. I do not need medicine.” Apparently he didn’t need to blink either, or eat and drink. He hadn’t touched anything they’d brought him or gone to the bathroom or anything. Just sat in the chair, handcuffed to the table, as though he had all the time in the world. It was freaky. But they couldn’t arrest someone for being ‘freaky’. True, due to his gloves, and lack of weapon, they didn’t have any clear evidence that he’d murdered anyone, but for now he might be counted as an accessory.  
“Alright. What can you tell me about Dean and Sam Winchester?” She tried, and hoped for less biblical answers this time.  
“Dean is a very good man. He often believes he does not deserve to be saved, but his soul is one of the brightest I have seen.” The void of those eyes bored into her, and Cara had to look away to avoid being lost in their soulless depths.  
  
“And Sam?” She scribbled down his response to Dean – the older Winchester had a huge file of crimes racked up, and she’d bet that kidnapping with a side of Stockholm syndrome wouldn’t be a challenge.  
“Sam is an abomination, but I suppose it was Heaven’s plan all along.” Castiel did not blink, and Cara jumped on the possible accusation.  
“Why do you say Sam is an abomination?”  
“He has demon blood in his veins. And I have my suspicions he shares Lucifer’s bed as his willing harlot.” ‘Castiel’ was insane. Utterly barking nuts, and anyone, any judge, any lawyer that talked to him would be able to figure that out in two seconds flat. Which meant that any statement he gave was invalid. God fucking damn it.  
“Listen, did Dean kidnap you? Did Dean do this to you?” Cara gave it one last try and massaged her temple, as Castiel’s fake-eyelash-framed eyes never left her, never even blinked. Couldn’t they just arrest him for being creepy? No, she supposed not.  
“I fell for Dean. But he has never done me wrong.” So now there were love confessions too? Well Castiel would have to visit his boo through prison bars, because unless Dean was as nuts as Castiel and they got put in adjacent padded cells, the murder weapon was enough to split their beautiful relationship apart with a crowbar.

“Alright. Just…sign this.” She handed him some paperwork, and then jumped at the metallic _snap_ as Castiel moved his right hand forward to take it. The cuffs that chained him to the table had been ripped in half. Cara stared at it. Castiel stared at it. There was a moment of silence.  
“Apologies. I did not mean to break your restraints.” The dolled-up guy did in fact look rather apologetic and Cara just gaped in shock. He’d just snapped them. Without even breaking a sweat. Without even _noticing_. And he’d just apologized.  
“You know what, I’ll just leave that with you.” Cara pushed the pen and paper at him. “Another officer will be by to collect it.”  
She needed a coffee. And aspirin. And maybe a shot of bourbon in her coffee. But it was ok. Dean was her next suspect, and he’d be an easy one to convict. In fact, he was already convicted. They just needed his side of the story to figure out where everyone else fit in.

“Dean Winchester.” She sat down in front of that smug little smile, one-hundred percent sure that this interview would be a county mile less insane than the last one.  
“Cara Pulby.” Dean winked and Cara wished she could count ‘criminally attractive’ as a case charge.  
“Credit card fraud, theft, breaking and entering, grave desecration, two accounts of murder, torture, bank robbery, prison break, impersonating officers of the law, the possible kidnapping of both Jimmy Novak and Nick Aquino…” She stacked the file that you could probably break into weightlifting with and looked back up at this criminal. “And recently mass murder and arson. At this point, Dean, it’s not a case of whether you will be jailed, but which state has dibs on you first.”  
“Then I’m assuming you’re just holding me here because you like me.” Dean smirked, but it was actually a relief after ‘Castiel’s’ unwavering stare and self-assured, insane answers.  
“I’m holding you here because we need information, Dean. Where is Nick Aquino? Did you kill him too?” She pressed, although from the video footage this didn’t seem likely, even for Dean. 

Cara had watched more crime evidence than daytime TV, and never, in all her experience as a cop, had anything got her gut twisted like watching Nick and Sam. It wasn’t the homosexuality, no, of course not, or the intimacy, or the fact Nick had licked _blood_ off Sam’s jaw. It was his laugh. Something about that laugh chilled her to the very core, something about his eyes made her swallow and look away, a kind of _itch_ , as though the video was watching her back, as though Nick changed every time she watched it, as though when she looked away he moved just to taunt her. That 40 second video was worse than any horror film she watched. There was just something about Nick that tugged at her deep instincts and said no, nope, fuck this shit.  
“Nick? Blonde hair, yea high, douchebag?” Dean gestured, and Cara nodded. “Ask Sam. And tell Sam that if I ever see his friend again I _will_ punch him in the face, damn the consequences.”  
“About Sam,” Cara chose to ignore that, because seriously, what more could Dean do to add to his criminal record. Eat babies? “He was a good kid, looking at his record and grades. What did you do to him, Dean? Did you give him Stockholm syndrome like your kidnap victim Jimmy Novak?”  
“Did Cas say that I kidnapped him?” Dean raised his eyebrows and Cara’s eyes were drawn to the cuffs that secured him to the table. Cuffs that ‘Castiel’ had broken by frickin accident.  
“Not exactly, but he seems to have religious psychosis and possibly a split personality disorder of some kind.” Cara frowned as Dean grinned.  
“What did he say? Let me guess, that he’s an angel of the lord and that we were fighting vampires while the Apocalypse is going on.” Dean looked expectant and even fond. First Jimmy blatantly admitting he loved Dean, then this murdering psychopath going all googly eyed over the transvestite…God these two were disgustingly cute. In their insane, mass-murder-spree kind of way.

“He did mention being an angel, but nothing about vampires or an Apocalypse.” Cara wondered whether Dean indulged his wide-eyed ‘Castiel’ in his fantasies and played along with him being an angel like a child with a game. Holy shit that was too cute for fucking machete-murderers. “Now, Dean, tell me, why did you and your brother kill the Vornski family?”  
Dean just smirked at her in silence, and it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t going to answer.  
“Fine, but I’m going to speak with your brother now. We’ll see what kind of story he tells.” Cara sighed and picked up Dean’s file. Well that had gone better than planned, although she still wasn’t sure how Jimmy Novak had found his way to Dean. But they had time. Over a few days of questioning, one of these three would surely crack. Well, it seemed like one of them had already cracked their nut.  
Cara exchanged Dean’s file for Sam’s, picked up the USB with that godawful video on it and headed over to their last prisoner.

“Sam Winchester.” Cara sat down opposite the youngest of the three and went through his charges too. Less weighty than Dean’s but they still had mass fucking murder tacked on the end. Before she’d arrived, some officers had set up a television in the corner of the smallish room, so she plugged in the USB and leaned against the wall where she could see it.  
“I want you to watch this video, Sam, and tell me what you think.” Cara steeled herself and pushed play. It was shaky – James was a wuss and had apparently just witnessed four people get violently murdered – but still very, very clear. 

_Mmm, you’ve gotta be quick around here._  
Nick Aquino’s laugh sent a shiver down Cara’s spine. It just had that same ring to it as that ‘bad feeling’ she got before shit went down, the sensation of an empty school at night or of being followed in an alley. She swore his expressions had been different last time too. The blonde leaned up to Sam and used his tongue and lips to clean the blood off Sam’s jaw as the tall man laughed. A muffled moan came from the floor.  
_Want me to get that, or –_  
_Fuck you, you already stole mine._  
Cara paused it, still unable to shake the weird sensation. “Now here, Sam, do you deny that at this point you kill the man on the ground?”  
She hit play.  
Sam onscreen disappeared from sight, and Nick glanced down with a smirk. She swore he’d smirked after he spoke last time she’d watched.  
_Hey, while you’re down there…_  
She waited for the telltale crunch of Sam’s knife through his victim’s spinal cord, but it never came. Instead, Nick tipped back his head, lips slightly parted.  
_Oh Sammy! Unh, yes, fuck, just like that!_ Nick moaned, and his hand crept down out of view. Both real Sam and Cara gaped at the video with disbelief.  
_Oh you good little slut, mmm!_  
“Um.” Sam side-eyed her with a mutinous expression, cheeks tinged pink as Nick panted onscreen. “I don’t think I’m killing anyone there.”  
“Someone has tampered with this footage. When I watched it…” Cara switched it off and tried to breathe easier. The video had been freaky enough without somebody –  
_Unh, Sam, swallow it down, pet, be good for Daddy._  
The thing turned itself back on again, and although Cara just about shat herself, Sam seemed completely unperturbed, if a bit done.  
“I hate him. I hate him so much.” The younger Winchester sighed as he watched himself get up and wipe his mouth. Cara just yanked the USB stick out this time, just to be sure. If it turned itself on again, she was getting a fucking exorcist.

“Nick Aquino. Where is he.” She blurted out.  
“Oh, I don’t know.” Sam sniped with barely concealed testiness. “He always vanishes at the most _inconvenient times_.”  
“How do you know him, Sam. He’s a missing persons from Delaware, which is half the country away from here.” And why was he so creepy? Maybe he was related to Jimmy Novak somehow, but whereas Jimmy had a calm sense of peace, Nick just freaked her the fuck out for no reason. And Cara didn’t freak the fuck out easy.  
“He stalked me. Then we got attached. No big deal.” Sam glared at the blank screen and crossed his arms, and Cara got the feeling that if Nick and Sam did meet up again, the blonde was either gonna get angry sex or no head for a month.  
“No big deal? His wife and baby got murdered before he vanished, and you say no big deal? He licked blood off your face after a murder spree and you say your relationship is no big deal?” Cara gestured at the screen, but didn’t dare put the USB back in again.  
“What can I say, he’s not long-term material.” Sam grumped and looked pointedly around the room at nothing.  
“How about Dean and Jimmy Novak? What can you tell me about their relationship?” Cara gave up; it seemed Sam was feeling bitchy about his boyfriend landing him in the shit, which was fair, but bitchy Sam only seemed to give snide comments.  
“Oh, yeah, they really need to start dating.” Sam nodded, with an innocent expression on his handsome face. “Cas is really nice. Cute. _Maybe_ I picked the wrong fucking angel.”

The younger Winchester glared around at nothing. So Sam referred to Jimmy as Castiel too, and all three of them seemed to be in on this biblical psychosis.  
“You know, Jimmy had some interesting things to say about you, Sam.” She tapped her notes, but the tall man just rolled his eyes.  
“Let me guess. I’m an atrocity. Satan’s whore. That kind of deal.” He looked at her expectantly, and Cara had no idea what the heck kind of weird, detailed game they played, but everyone seemed to be on the same foot.  
“…Yes, actually.”  
“Well, I’m not sure Satan deserves me.” Sam huffed, and not for the first time, Cara got the feeling he wasn’t just talking to her. Maybe Sam was insane too. Maybe they were all just one, big, gay family a few chicken nuggets shy of a picnic.  
“Ok, Sam, I’m going to leave you to think over the events a little longer. Even without the video evidence, as you were found with a murder weapon, covered in blood, it’s very unlikely you will get off without charges. If anything comes to mind about anything or anyone, especially where we might find Nick, please let us know.” Cara rattled off and swept back out the door. What in all fuck was going on here, seriously? She couldn’t wait until all of them were well and truly secure behind bars where she didn’t have to deal with it. Cara glanced at the USB in her hand, and swallowed. There was something creepy going on in this case – well, creepier than a forty-person decapitation murder spree with schizophrenic, middle-aged runaways and two brothers who just didn’t want to stay dead. She’d heard Special Agent Henrikson had just about lost his mind over the Winchester case. Now she had an idea why.

Sam tapped on the table he was handcuffed to, and glowered at random spots in the hope he’d get the one Satan was in. Seriously, Lucifer and his 300,000th that kept feeding the Devil little titbits about his psyche was the worst.  
“Aw, don’t be angry, Sammy.” A hand carded through his hair but Sam just leaned away as far as the cuffs would let him and glared at his fucking pain in the ass archangel.  
“Dude.” Sam raised his restrained hand and his eyebrows. “I am cuffed to a table.”  
“Yes you are.” Lucifer smirked and Sam hoped the bitch face he shot him had some kind of mystical power on the celestial plane and burned him. The Devil leaned closer to him with bedroom eyes, but hell no was he gonna fall for that one again.  
“Oh no. No. You do not get even to _kiss_ until me, Cas and Dean are 3 states away from murder charges.” Sam narrowed his eyes. Seriously, the helicopter crash had been the perfect out and now they were back on the cop radar because Lucifer had weird kinks. He supposed to a huge, ancient, omni-present being like Lucifer a small thing like police was trifles, but they had enough on their asses without people out to gank them as well.  
“Oh Sammy, you’re no fun.” Lucifer dropped his chin onto Sam’s shoulder, and it was just as well the archangel was behind him so that he didn’t see his human’s max-power eye roll. “And you’re so tense.”  
Those hands came up and dragged down his shoulders and Sam gave a sigh of frustration, because Lucifer was a shit, but a shit that could get them out of this mess. True, he could bludgeon himself against the table and hope for the best, but it seemed a bit extreme. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he knew Lucifer’s intentions weren’t bad. Just…playful. Great. He had a fucking playful archangel as a boyfriend.

“Nice job with the video.” Sam muttered with as much sarcasm as was humanely possible as Lucifer’s fingers massaged up his neck. His shoulders unintentionally dipped down, and his arm that could slid a little further across the table surface. Screw him for making it feel so good. “You want the whole world to think I’m a whore, don’t you?”  
“You should have seen your face.” Lucifer nuzzled his ear, and Sam grudgingly let him. Although it had been as the expense of his own pride, the Chief of Police had just about choked up her spleen, which gave it at least one bonus point.  
“Mmm, I saw yours too. I’m almost jealous of myself in that video.” Sam glared as best he could at the two-way window across from him as fingernails curled against his scalp. That hand tugged his hair so he was mutinously made to look at the bastard, and an unfair coil of delight shot to his stomach. Oh, he really should have never told Lucifer about his hair. The Devil regarded him with low-lidded eyes, and his mouth was just open enough so Sam could see his teeth, as if he were tasting the idea of his words on his tongue before he said it. Too bad he didn’t get a chance, because although Sam didn’t have psychic powers anymore, it was pretty easy to guess.  
“Oh no. No.” Sam was _not_ going to suck a dick in a police interrogation room. He had some dignity left. “Seriously, I can’t go anywhere with you.”  
Lucifer dipped his head down right beside Sam’s jaw, so his lips brushed the skin when he talked. “What can I say, Sam? I’m a sinner.”  
Teeth caught the dip between the corner of Sam’s jawbone and his soft throat, and a tingle of pleasure shot hot down to his groin. Fucking hell.  
“I’m an angel of lust and desire, I’m temptation and pleasure and pain and need, all for you, Sammy.” That voice whispered as hot lips sucked on Sam’s neck, and teeth found those delicious little spots that made him jump and shiver at the sensation. But Sam’s will could probably win weightlifting championships with its strength, so he decided to fight fire with fire.  
“Alright, Lucifer.” He turned and tilted his head up just a little – not kissing the Devil, but close and decadent enough to tempt it. “You get us out of here, and the first thing I do will be to take that hot, throbbing cock in my mouth and tease it with my tongue, suck it right down into my throat and swallow everything you can give me. I want to taste you, I want to hear your moans, I want you to fuck my mouth like an animal.”

The fingers in his hair gripped tighter, but Sam loved it; not just the sensation, but the proof that his plan had worked. Lucifer’s pupils had blown so much that his irises were near black, and those stubble-framed lips were parted in desire.  
“And then I might let you fuck me if you’re not too tired.” Sam added with a bitchy smirk, because apparently he hadn’t learned his lesson about his smart mouth. His own cock had swelled and a darker spot stained the white of the breeches he still had on as it leaked in reply to the images he conjured. It was nice to have the power in his hands for once without having to clock himself with a coffee cup or whatever. He had the Devil right where he wanted him: wrapped around his little finger, and he could be as much of a shit as he wanted to be, because that’d just make Lucifer fuck him harder.  
The fingers in his hair relaxed, and Lucifer drew back, but his dark gaze never wavered.  
“You talk a good game, Sam.” The rough timbre gave away just how much he’d turned this primordial being on and a vicious swell of smug pride rushed up Sam’s chest. “You’d better put your mouth where you money is.”

  
“Cara, you’d better come quick!” Officer Tryan burst through her office door. “It’s the younger Winchester. Something…he’s talking, but…”  
Cara leapt up, curious as all Hell as to what the heck had got Tryan so wound up and confused. She didn’t head into Sam’s room, but followed her subordinate into the chamber behind the two-way window.

“You want the whole world to think I’m a whore, don’t you?” Sam had relaxed across the table a bit, one arm splayed forward, but he still had a terse expression. He tilted his head a little, and his features became tinged with weariness. After a few beats, he spoke again.  
“Mmm, I saw yours too. I’m almost jealous of myself in the video.” Sam glared straight at Cara and the other two officers in the room, as though he knew they were there, watching him talk to himself. Even when that video was _mentioned_ , creepy shit went down.  
Sam turned his head, but not in the usual way. It was as though his head was being moved for him, and although his mime skill should have put him in the Cirque De Solei, it didn’t help just how eerie this was.  
Sam’s bitchy expression didn’t change though, and he spoke again with a firm tone. “Oh no. No. Seriously, I can’t go anywhere with you.”  
Who did he think he was talking to? Cara ran a hand across her face. She’d thought Jimmy was insane, but it seemed Sam was experiencing full blown psychotic episodes too. Sam tilted his head up the side, and exposed his neck. His eyelids drooped for a moment, then it seemed he fought it. A large hand curled on the table, and little helpless ripples shot through Sam’s shoulders. That wasn’t a response you could mime. What the fuck. 

It took longer this time for Sam to speak again, and the next words sent a chill through all the officers in the room.  
“Alright, Lucifer.” Sam tilted his head up, eyes lazy and fixed on something they couldn’t see. Maybe that’s what Jimmy had meant. Perhaps in their weird religious roleplaying hallucination madness, Sam saw worshipped the Devil. Or at least shipped himself with the Devil. The thought of the recording came back to her, just how creepy and unnatural it _felt_ …  
“You get us out of here, and the first thing I do will be to take that hot, throbbing cock in my mouth and tease it with my tongue, suck it right down into my throat and swallow everything you can give me. I want to taste you, I want to hear your moans, I want you to fuck my mouth like an animal.” Sam smirked and Cara wished she had some fucking ear bleach. She was fairly sure, given the evidence, that she’d watched Sam hallucinate himself being sucked off by Satan in her office, and now he wanted to return the favour.  
“What does he mean? Who…” Tryan looked over at her, eyes wide. Cara was pretty sure her eyes were wide after that graphic description.  
“He’s hallucinating. Mad as a hatter.” Somehow it was even more wrong that Dean was the sane one of the three and had committed more crimes. Maybe he persuaded them that these murders and thefts and grave desecrations were all part of their deluded fantasy. Took advantage of their madness. Jesus. Sam’s head twitched down a bit, but he held gaze with whatever he could see.  
“And then I might let you fuck me if you’re not too tired.”  
He looked far too pleased with himself, then shit got crazy (er). Nick appeared. Appeared right where Sam had been staring, but he didn’t look at the prisoner. What the…Usually she would have bolted on in there, but Cara was frozen, with fear, with shock, with something. The other officers appeared to be as well. Nick looked straight at her, with those cold, blue eyes, smirked, and then both he and Sam just vanished.

The metallic sound of her phone snapped her out of the horror-trance.  
“Pulby, Dean Winchester and Jimmy Novak are gone! They just…vanished!” Another officer blurted out, and a cold shiver pricked goosebumps on her skin.  
_“Alright, Lucifer. You get us out of here…”_  
This case wasn’t going any further. They were going to close it, wrap it up so tight in red tape that even the FBI would have to get governmental chainsaws to hack through it, and never think about it again. Because deep down, she felt as though they’d all had a close brush with true, bed-time-story evil, and were all lucky to have come away alive.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist writing a chapter like this - throwback to The Usual Suspects (S2e7)...it was so much damn fun hahaha :D As always, it would make my day to hear what you thought of it!! Get ready for the next chapter though - you might need some snacks, a towel and a coffee break ay ;P But wow, I truly mean it when I say you guys have really been making writing fanfic an amazing experience for me. Interacting with you all, seeing the wonderful art you produce, seeing how many people find joy in my writing...it's just inspired me to write more and more. I've written 6+ fanfics this year because of it!  
> Speaking of art, here's another [piece by forrestwyrm concerning Lucifer's wings](http://forrestwyrm.tumblr.com/post/153150374561/idk-i-had-inseparable-on-my-mind-forgive-the) c: I love it, thank you so much ♥ Thank you all for all your love and I'm really glad I can bring y'all a fun Samifer fic! Stay awesome my lovelies ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡° )  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	17. In Which Sam Is Fucked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or In Which There Is Even More Smut Than Last Time, have fun people who read this in public places.

One moment Sam saw Castiel and Dean being unceremoniously dumped back into a hotel room, the next minute he was in an apartment he didn’t recognize.  
“Cas and Dean?” Sam turned to the archangel beside him, but didn’t really look anywhere but Lucifer. As long as the other two were safe, it didn’t matter where he was. He had a promise to keep, and he was so hard from their interrogation room flirting that it’d stained the front of his breeches. Plus Lucifer had been so wound up by his dirty talk that he’d obeyed all of Sam’s requests, and if that didn’t make him a smug shit, (and forgive the Devil for that mess in the first place) nothing would.  
“Safe and sound.” Lucifer shot him a perky little smile, and Sam had seen them be dropped off anyway.  
“Where are we?” Sam didn’t even bother to look around; just looked the archangel up and down with the best bedroom eyes he could muster as desire quickened his breath. True, Lucifer was back in his usual olive green shirt, blue over shirt and loose jeans, and he wasn’t, like, supermodel material. But he was attractive in a roguish, wicked way, brimmed with charismatic power, and he was all Sam’s and Sam was all his. Honestly, Sam wouldn’t want it any other way. A small voice piped up at the back of his head that said these feelings might just be a bit dangerous, but Sam shoved it back under the angst pile where it belonged. Another time, Logical Thinking.

The rough blonde shrugged with an air of nonchalance that Sam didn’t believe for a second. “Wherever you want us to be.”  
“I don’t care.” Sam spread a palm over Lucifer’s chest and pushed him against the wall with a thud. He didn’t even wait for Lucifer to respond; he had a promise to keep and by fuck was he gonna keep it. So Sam dropped to his knees in front of the Devil, wrenched the archangel’s belt and jeans undone, and yanked them down. It was at that moment, presented with Lucifer’s hungry, stiff erection the hunter realized he’d never sucked dick before and had probably promised a bit over his beginner’s skill level. But he’d had blowjobs before so he knew what felt good, and he’d be able to feel if what he was doing to Lucifer worked or not…so just like horseriding, Sam gave an inward shrug and dove right in. 

Without even skipping a beat, he latched his hands firm over Lucifer’s hips and sucked hungry kisses up and down the flesh that was both impossibly solid and smooth.  
“Mmm, good boy, Sammy.” The Devil’s voice dropped to a smug low tone, and his hips twitched forward towards Sam’s lips. On any other occasion, Sam would have been a bastard and tried to tease him more for being so damn smug, but he’d made a promise “I could get off from just seeing you on your knees for me.”  
“Shut - the –fuck –up. “ Sam punctuated each word with an obscene lick or suck to the angry red length in front of him, then wrapped his fingers around the base of Lucifer’s cock and lapped at the wet slit with an indecent kind of enthusiasm. A moan tore up whatever Lucifer was about to say in response, which sent both a flash of satisfaction and desire though Sam’s stomach. His own cock throbbed inside the tight press of his damp breeches. Fuck, he was going to get off on just sucking Lucifer’s dick at this point, and that’d be awful because he just knew the Devil would tease him about it for eternity. And eternity might not just be an expression.

Sam stroked one hand from the base to where his lips and tongue teased the foreskin and tip, and with the other hand yanked off his own weird period necktie, then got to work on the waistcoat and shirt buttons.  
“Good boy, Sammy, good boy, just like that.” Lucifer panted and his fingers tightened in Sam’s hair as the hunter sucked that thick head into the heat of his mouth. He just made a hungry noise in the back of his throat; although Lucifer seemed to be keeping it together, his cock cried sharp precome into Sam’s mouth. It pulsed against his tongue as he took it in further in, inch by inch, slow but sure.  
He wasn’t exactly certain what he was going to do when the tip hit the back, but he’d cross that bridge when his lazy rhythm got them there. Breath huffed out Sam’s nose at the hot sensation that echoed back on to his own cock, which was joined by a happy whine as Lucifer tugged at his hair harder. Fuck. Heat rippled out from his lower stomach and probably spread a flush up his now-exposed chest and neck as Lucifer gave an indulgent groan. Sam just slid his hand down the Devil’s length and cupped under his balls as that cock pressed deeper.  
“Unh, if I’d known your lips looked so pretty stretched around my cock, I would’ve had you like this from the start.” Fingers brushed Sam’s throat, then the Devil snapped his hips forward, and Sam expected to choke hard, then made a little high noise of surprise when he realized Lucifer had removed his gag reflex. Ah well. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. So Sam’s angled his neck a little better, shrugged off the waistcoat and shirt entirely and bobbed faster in time to Lucifer’s hips as the Devil fucked his mouth like Sam had invited him to back in the interrogation room. 

That stiff length pumped into him hard and fast and Sam took it like an eager whore, loved the roughness and the sensation of the impatient, hot silkiness against his tongue. Oh god. He wished he had something to rut against, because both the ghost of friction on his cock and the shameless moans Lucifer made with his head flung back against the wall and cock balls deep in Sam’s mouth had Sam’s own body in spasms from pleasure. He hummed a high needy moan around the member in his mouth, vibrated sound against it as his own hips jerked against the fabric of his jockstrap. Shit, he was gonna come in his fucking pants like a teenager, God, fuck…There was a crunch as Lucifer’s fingers sank into the wall, and to his surprise, Satan’s hand balled in his hair and the hot cock wrenched out of his throat and mouth. For a second, Sam took in Lucifer’s bared teeth and debauched hair and skin, then had the small inkle of logic to close his eyes as Lucifer’s hand snapped down around his own member. The balls cupped in Sam’s fingers jumped up, and hot come spurted over his face and naked shoulders as a Lucifer watched with bared teeth. The hunter just gritted his teeth against a moan and held on as a shot of hot pleasure streaked up his stomach and begged him to come too, but bounced off that Winchester will like a bottle off a brick wall.

It took a second for him to get a hold on himself, then flicked some come away from his eye so it was safe to open them again – oddly enough it didn’t feel as disgusting as it should have, but more like he’d been marked, claimed, covered in his mate’s seed, and the thought made his back arch with perverse excitement. Sam watched with a strange sort of fascination as the white dripped down past the erect nub of his nipple, and he gathered it up on his thumb, looked up at Lucifer with the most innocence he could muster, and sucked it off. Even though it wasn’t the greatest taste sensation, the look of sheer _sin_ on Satan’s face was worth every second.  
“Oh, I like the look of that far too much.” The Devil’s voice was husky as he trailed a finger along Sam’s cheek. The younger Winchester took the bait and lapped the fluid off his finger, but he was far from an obedient little twink.  
“That’s you spent for the night then, old man?” Sam raised his eyebrows and rose up off the ground, but his cocky tone was undermined by the obvious outline of his aching member under his breeches. Lucifer leaned forward, but didn’t even look pissed; amused even. He licked a rough stripe up Sam’s cheek, then nuzzled down to suck his own come off Sam’s shoulder.  
“You think that would even take the edge off my hunger, Sam?” The words were barely a whisper in his ear, but Sam felt them ripple all the way down his spine. “If anything, that made me even more…”  
A firm hand pressed down the back of his shoulders, squeezed the curve of his waist and finally found purchase with a thumb in the dip of his hip bone. A breath shuddered out of Sam’s throat as the archangel’s stubble caught on the nerves in the curve between his neck and shoulder.  
“…Ravenous.” Lucifer breathed and Sam gave a groan as teeth sank with perfect pressure right into the sweet spot there.

There was a tug in his stomach, like falling, and when Sam opened his eyes, it took a second to come to terms with where he was. Flat on his back on a king size bed, looking up into his own shocked expression on the mirrored ceiling. Lucifer, completely naked and noticeably hard again, knelt between his legs with a wicked smirk. Sam tried to sit up, but snapped back down to the bed as he found his wrists secured beside his head. There was a mirrored wall or closet that stretched the length of the bed on his left too, because apparently Lucifer wanted to feed Sam’s voyeur kink until it died of obesity.  
“Hey!” Sam yanked at the bonds, then shuddered to a stop as Lucifer’s hand slid up the inside of his clothed thigh. Could Lucifer just fucking rip off his breeches already?  
“Oh don’t stop struggling Sam,” Lucifer tutted and eased his legs apart even further. God, he should _not_ be so turned on by how exposed and helpless he felt, especially when he wasn’t even naked. “I was enjoying that.”

Sam shot the Devil a glare of defiance and wrenched at the padded cuffs again, just for show. They weren’t as immobilizing as when Lucifer had frozen his body when they fucked last time, but he had a feeling Satan liked a bit of a fight. Then Lucifer dipped down and pressed a light kiss to the obvious, straining raise that defined Sam’s cock. The hunter’s head jerked back and he gave a ragged moan at how even that light touch jolted through him. Sam’s vision blurred a little, from the sudden flight, from the amount of blood that’d left his head, from frustration he didn’t know, but he yanked against his restraints even harder as his back arched up. Another gasped moan tore out his lips as Lucifer mouthed up his cock and suckled on the damp head through the fabric. Sam shuddered as he pressed every inch of his will to stop just spraying in his pants right there and then.  
“Lucifer, Lucifer, stop, fuck!” He moaned with a little less control than he’d intended and the Devil did indeed pull off. Sam didn’t dare even open his eyes for a few moments, in case he caught sight of himself in the mirrors, or Lucifer’s hungry eyes and cock or something that’d push him over the edge.  
“You all right, Sammy?” That fucking smug tone was gonna make Sam say things he’d regret later.  
“Yeah. Is that seriously the best you can do?” Exhibit A on saying things he’d regret later. Sam panted and braved a look at Lucifer. The Devil smirked, and something dark crossed his eyes.  
“You really want it bad, don’t you?” Fingers crept under Sam’s waistband, and the fabric of the breeches and underwear ripped like paper into strips. It wasn’t hurried or frantic; almost like someone with all the time in the world who was trying to get all the strips even or something.  
“Oh, I just want to see if you live up to your reputation.” Sam swallowed and strained against just arching up and offering himself as the archangel tugged off the last remnants of his clothing. “Because so far – ah!”

In a fluid movement, Lucifer hauled Sam’s hips up so the large man was almost doubled in half, ducked down and flicked his oh so talented tongue against the puckered, sensitive nerves of Sam’s entrance. Breath hit the back of Sam’s throat, his eyes flew wide and there was a creak of rope as he jerked his bonds taught.  
“Oh _fuck_!” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but The Devil had no freaking mercy. That hot mouth nipped and lapped down his thighs, then sucked on his ring of muscle that had never received that sort of attention, and Sam grasped at the sheets as his eyes rolled back. He didn’t even get a break to make a snarky comment about the Devil kissing his ass, because that wicked tongue flicked out once, twice, then pushed inside him. Sam’s whole body jerked with the wonderful, hot intrusion, but tight hands on his thighs held him in place.  
“Lucifer, ohhh f – “ His curse was cut off with a glottal choke as that tongue plunged deeper in a hot – fuck it was so hot! – rhythm, and precome smattered down onto his lower chest. Teeth scraped along his entrance, lit him up at the same time as Lucifer’s unnaturally long tongue circled over his prostate, and Sam forgot for a moment that he was tied down and tried to snatch at Lucifer’s hair, but couldn’t, he couldn’t resist this onslaught, couldn’t stop the rhythmic, rough groans that seemed to boil up from his trembling hips, through his chest and out his throat.

Lucifer whined in reply, then that tongue split in two inside him and massaged that fucking spot in an alternating rhythm that never let off. Sam’s whole frickin body shook, his toes curled and spasmed in the air, and he had his head pressed so hard back into the pillow that his neck ached. High moans punched out his lips as he rolled his hips, fucking himself against Lucifer’s mouth. His balls throbbed with too much pressure, but just before he lurched into the first spasm of orgasm, the Devil pulled off, knelt up and slid the head of his cock into where his mouth had just been as he took Sam’s leg under the crook of the knee and spread him wider.  
“Unh, shit!” Sam grunted, gritted his teeth and wrenched against the bonds as Lucifer pushed into him. His lower stomach went tight, and tingles shivered up through his chest at the delicious heat and ache. Fuck, the sensation was so new and _desperate_ ; Sam had never pinned himself down as someone who’d dig anal, but now, as the thick head of a cock stretched him, slid, silky and hot inside him…a ragged gasp caught on the back of his throat as the blonde man thrust once, twice, then found that sweet spot again with the precision of a frickin seasoned pornstar. God…the more Lucifer fucked him, the more Sam wanted it with a wretched, almost masochistic desire.  
“Watch.” Lucifer growled, and lowered a hand to turn Sam’s head toward the mirror beside them. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

A high, gasped moan left Sam’s lips as he took in the pair of them; his own face was flushed, eyes glassy with pleasure, hair a loose mess and his cock hung glistening and swollen between his legs which spread up in the air around Lucifer’s sides. He could see the stiff thickness of the archangel’s cock, half buried in his body as Lucifer stretched above him, fingers pressed into the muscle of his thighs. A hard coil of excitement rammed through him and he gave an indulgent gasp, but didn’t look away as the Devil sank deeper into him. Shit, that was hot, watching it as well as feeling it fill him up. God fucking…Sam panted as a throb of pleasure welled deep in his stomach and surged up his cock. He saw his own legs give a violent shudder, then without warning, his whole body arched up, spasmed, shook so hard he looked as though he was having some sort of seizure. He gave a strangled cry as intense bliss punched up through him and come shot out across his chest in streaks. Sam snapped his eyes shut, tensed, but it was far too late to stop his orgasm. So he just moaned through the sensation, convulsed against the stiff, hot thing inside him. The ka-thud of his heat thumped unnaturally loud in his chest, it seemed, but beyond that Lucifer gave a dark chuckle. The grip on his thigh tightened, but Sam was lost in spasms and the satisfied lull of orgasm to even try and respond.  
“Now, I’m guessing that wasn’t enough for you?” 

Oh shit. The Devil was calling his due on payback time. That evil voice had an undertone of dark humour, but Sam couldn’t answer through his gasps, couldn’t, just watched as Lucifer adjusted his grip, slid a finger down and ran it over Sam’s softening cock. Blood pulsed toward the touch, and Sam writhed in desperation against that hand on his thigh as Lucifer brought him to full, unsated hardness again. Oh fuck. He was dizzy from the orgasm, and now gasping with need again, all in the same moment.  
“Nn – unh – “ Sam tried to grab Lucifer’s shoulders to steady himself but his hands fell back limp as soon as they reached the ends of their tethers.  
“Tired already?” That blonde bastard didn’t even seem breathless as his eyes caught on Sam’s deadweight arms, and the hunter should have complimented his lover or waxed some poetic post-orgasm shit like a sensible person. But that would’ve just been too easy.  
“I’m wondering…” Sam groaned and tried to focus his eyes on the man above him. “Whether you’re always this much of a placid lover.”

Yeah, Sam knew he fucked up before he even said it – or not. He wanted to be fucked so hard he’d forget he’d have to go back to Dean and take his judgement about everything with an asskissing apology. He wanted the Apocalypse and all the angel and demon shit pounded out of his head, he wanted Lucifer to drive him over the edge to where nothing mattered anymore, God, he wanted it _now_.  
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Lucifer’s growl was the only warning Sam got. The archangel’s hips snapped forward and Sam’s back hit the headboard with a thud that echoed through his body. A lurched noise of surprise broke out of his lips, and he found his shoulder blades jammed in the corner between the mattress and the surface behind him, but fuck did he love the rough edge that brought him back from his pleasure-lull. Above him, Lucifer braced his hands on the headboard, a wicked, muscular silhouette of ancient power and lust. Before Sam could recover from the first push, the Devil took him so hard that Sam’s fingers and arms shook with the depth of it. The fullness balled up his stomach, choked his throat, but the creak of the wooden bed covered his gasp as he smacked back into it again.  
“That’s – more – fucking – like it - unh!” Sam, the most defiant bastard since John Winchester, managed out between Satan pounding him into the headboard. He threw back his head against the wood, mouth a slack oval as the pressure in his cock built and built, as groans scudded out of his throat. His head was full of desperate sound and pleasure and the beat of that cock that ravaged him, slapped his skin back against wood. He’d been rammed up further than where he’d started, so his hands were now tied beside his sides where his nails ripped into the cover. Sam loved it, loved the cock inside him that brought delicious pain under the swell of deep inescapable bliss, loved the recklessness that would bring bruises, was almost addicted to how _right_ Lucifer felt pumping into his body. The archangel’s fierce blue eyes met his and wood splintered beneath Lucifer’s fingers.  
“Come – for me – again, you – mouthy – bastard.” The Devil snarled and Sam gritted his teeth against any traitorous noises because he just loved to push Lucifer’s buttons as much as he could.  
“Make – me.” He managed out, although the attempt was pretty weak at this point. 

Apparently archangels took challenges very seriously. On the next quick thrust in, a buzz of power hit Sam’s prostate and shockwaved out along every limb. Oh _fuck_. The hunter’s vision went white, his toes curled and he flung his head back so hard, he swore he must have given himself half a concussion. His cock and balls jerked, a cry tore out Sam’s throat, then hitched louder as Lucifer lit him up again (once would have been enough, but the Devil just had to drive a point home). But he was already coming all over himself in a shuddering, undone mess.

Sam’s own gasps and pants filled his head over the hammer of his heart, and his skin shook under a sheen of sweat. A line of saliva tracked down his chin, but even if he’d had the energy to wipe it off, his arms were still tied down. The bed creaked as Lucifer pulled out, but Sam was still seeing white blotches across his vision to make sense of anything…only that Lucifer was still hard.  
“Unmm…you didn’t come?” Sam slurred, a little confused, then noticed a black line around the base of Lucifer’s cock. A cock ring. That motherfucker. “Cheater.”  
“Human bodies are so restraining.” Lucifer let Sam unfold from being squished up against the headboard, like a cat might let a mouse run a little bit before pouncing, and the hunter felt as though he was missing something, but his orgasm-addled brain couldn’t compute. His eyes flickered as the exertion crept up on him and tried to drag him down to sleep it off.  
“Oh no, Sammy.” Lucifer snapped his restraints, and with the ease of a tiger with a rabbit, flipped him onto his stomach. “I’m not done with you yet.”

 

Lucifer didn’t even let Sam finish his half-hearted moan in response. When the Devil made a promise to get someone and get them good, he did exactly that. He wasn’t one to tell lies, after all. With a rough arm, he dragged Sam’s shaking body up on to his knees and pinned him to the wall. Through their link, Lucifer took on a bit of the human’s dizziness, but Sam’s body was telling him to sleep. It wasn’t physically possible for an archangel to sleep, so unless he pushed Sam into a black-out, they should both be fine. And an artist like himself could walk that line with ease. With one knee, Lucifer shoved Sam’s unsteady thighs apart as the hunter curled his nails into the wallpaper to try and keep himself upright. Sam’s knees scudded on the pillows then buckled, but this sassy hoe wasn’t getting away with it that easy.

“Sure you can take it?” Lucifer pressed his naked skin up flush against Sam’s limp, sweat-slick back for support and reached around to coax his human’s cock erect again.  
“Sure…you can k…keep’t up hotsh…t?” Sam skipped vowels as he slurred against the wall. Along their connection, Lucifer could tell the defiant bastard wasn’t just egging him on to spite him, but honestly wanted to be nailed again. To preserve his pride, that was Sam’s code; the more he sassed Lucifer, the more he wanted it hard in the ass.  
“Oh, I could keep this up forever, Sam.” He kept his hand on Sam’s impressive member, slick from both new precome and his spent seed and massaged it all the way up to the head as his other hand helped angle his cock between Sam’s spread cheeks. An curious noise vibrated in Sam’s throat, but the defiant bastard didn’t even let it pass out his lips.  
“You good little thing, you good little creature.” Lucifer purred, and heat swelled through him as that puckered hole wrapped around him with ease now. His cock ached as the oh so tight heat massaged it, angry and desperate to fill Sam with his climax, but he couldn’t give that away quite yet, could he?  
“You take me so good now, your ass is gagging to be filled, my pretty little thing.” Lucifer pinned Sam so tight against the wall that there was barely enough room for his fist on the Winchester’s cock. His left hand curled into Sam’s hair and gave a tug so the man had to look at himself being fucked up against a wall. Despite pleasing his partner’s kinks, the sight of them moulded together, of himself thrusting into Sam’s body as the defiance fell from the hunter’s face and was engulfed by glazed, loose pleasure was too perfect.  
“Unh Lucifer – “ Sam broke off into rapid gasps, lazy eyes fixed on their reflection. The hunter’s body trembled against his chest and stomach, and his nails scratched down the wallpaper in desperation. Shit, Sam was so hot and tight, and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t get enough of ravishing Sam’s body, making him sweat and writhe and moan.  
“Come in me.” Sam whimpered and shut his eyes, as though ashamed of the shaky sound of his own voice as they moved together. “Come in me, please, I need it.”

The words slammed a wash of needy disbelief and desire through Lucifer as he kept up a steady rhythm both on Sam’s cock and in his ass. But Sam had just given him a new toy to play with.  
“If you’re a good boy – “ Lucifer kissed up his damp neck with a smirk and another thrust. “I’ll come in you next time.”  
Sam gave a gritty frustrated moan, and the limp body tensed, then the human somehow found the energy to grind back against him in desperation, and pump into his hand harder. A delighted gasp tore out of Lucifer as his cock throbbed so hard he was certain Sam felt it. Heat washed over him like a fever, and he was so tempted to remove the damn cock ring and just fill Sam’s tight little ass up with his come again and again until the Winchester begged for mercy. But that wasn’t the game they were playing today.

A grunt of restraint punched up out of him, and he felt the effect that sound had on Sam’s groin and chest, which just caused him to grunt again, lower, more possessive this time. The younger Winchester’s cock pulsed, a leaking, hot brand of desperate arousal, in his hand, and Sam let out a moan, then another as his body began to violently shake against Lucifer and the wall.  
“Lucifer, Lucifer, oh fuck me – “ Sam’s head tipped back, and Lucifer took the bait and pulled his hair as Sam just moaned his name louder. The Devil gritted his teeth as his breath came too fast at the sound, the sound of Sam wanting him, needing him, loving him. He stroked his hand to the base of Sam’s cock and massaged his fingers right into that sweet spot between the base and his sack, and the noise Sam made would have sent him over the edge if he didn’t have a ring on.  
“You’re mine, you will always be mine.” He gave a hard thrust to emphasize his fevered words, and Sam’s eyes flew wide open as he choked on his own cries. “Look at me inside you Sam, look at me fuck you, watch me make you mine.”  
Lucifer knew Sam’s half-lidded eyes were on them in the mirror again and bent to bite hard, red marks into his shoulders and neck, in frenzied, possessive movements. His thrusts turned savage and messy, and he pumped Sam’s cock with a malicious kind of delight as growls and hungry noises resounded out his chest. No human should make him this wild and uncontrollable, turn him into a debauched animal, but Sam…fuck, how did Sam do this?

The body against him froze, then bucked so hard Sam pushed them off the wall for a second. Lucifer snapped the hand in Sam’s hair across his mouth and pinned him down again with inhuman strength. He turned and watched Sam’s eyes roll, watched that muscular body struggle against him, try to get away from the unbearable pleasure at both the front and the back, but the man stood no chance.  
“That’s it, my pretty, that’s – it, come for me, you – gorgeous little – bastard.” Lucifer knew his voice was husky and gritty with restraint and need, but Sam’s eyes flew back again, he shook, clawed at the wall, vibrated urgent, muffled cries against Lucifer’s palm. Then his cock pulsed, swelled in Lucifer’s hand, and he was gone; in the mirror Lucifer watched what little fluid was left in Sam’s body mark the wall and drip over his hand as Sam fucked himself without restraint on Lucifer’s cock, eyes squeezed tight with ecstasy. Fucking hell. His dick hurt with pressure as that tight tunnel massaged him, and hit the tip in the most delicious way. His balls tensed, tight and full, ready to spill, but not allowed to, and he bit into Sam’s shoulder so hard with frustration that he tasted blood.

Lucifer didn’t even give Sam a moment to recover, just pulled out and let the human collapse into a shaking, sweat-slick heap across the pillows and duvet. Little, breathy moans ghosted out of Sam’s mouth and Lucifer’s world spun for a second as he got an echo of Sam’s dizziness. But he wanted Sam again, and this time, he wanted – _needed_ – to release the pressure in his groin.  
“Sa-am.” He lilted and pushed the languid mess of bronze skin onto his back. Something tugged at the back of Lucifer’s consciousness - Castiel, he thought, searching the city for them. They were hidden, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t send his brother…a little gift.  
Then he was brought back as Sam lifted his head, face half obscured between tendrils of damp, messy hair, and to Lucifer’s surprise, he giggled.  
“You’re s…mmm…so h…t … I like y…mmm…your scruff n you…r p…tty eyes.” Sam’s limbs collapsed, spread out, as if he didn’t care just how receptive he looked. Lucifer felt a grin creep over his face as Sam’s…what was this, dick-drunk side effects warmed him too. The big man was pretty much delirious; his eyes dragged around the space, uneven breath huffed out his chest and his head tilted and turned as though he didn’t know where to put it.  
“Why d…dn’t you come in me, I want you to come in me, please, please, please…” Sam moaned and made a clumsy attempt to lift his legs.  
“Fuck yourself on my cock.” Lucifer crawled forward until his hands were either side of Sam’s head beneath him. On the way, he ran his hand up Sam’s exhausted member, until it was as frustrated and hard as he was again, but not painfully sensitive, and the human let out a small sob of exasperation. He hefted Sam’s deadweight ass up onto the support of his knees, and leaned forward so that the rounded tip of his dick was about an inch away from Sam’s entrance. Sam’s lazy eyes drifted down, he bit his pretty lip, then tried to lift his hand, but only got it halfway before it dropped back onto the cover again.  
“Unh, help.” Sam groaned, but Lucifer just smirked as his cock dripped precome onto the curve of Sam’s ass.  
“How bad do you want it, Sam?” He hummed and pressed ever so lightly against that loosened, pink hole. Sam tipped his head back with a lazy hum, then Lucifer gave a grumble of satisfaction as the hunter’s large, feverishly hot hand wrapped around his length and guided him downwards. He didn’t dissolve the cock ring yet, because Lucifer was pretty sure that he’d just come on the spot regardless of if he was inside Sam or not. And he couldn’t disappoint his human, not after Sam had behaved so well.  
“Unh, mmm…” Sam seemed half asleep or lost in the sensation, but the way he teased the head of Lucifer’s cock against his ring of sensitive muscle had the archangel shaking. “Mmm, fuck, I want it, I want it, I want you, I want you…”

Sam broke off into an obscenely indulgent moan as he slid just the head of Lucifer’s cock inside himself. Lucifer gasped, and it felt like the time he’d gotten drunk – tingles danced over his skin, his eyes couldn’t focus, his tongue and hands itched to do something, while his cock ached, pulsed as Sam milked the head with just an inch inside him. He watched Sam’s hand around him, panted as it pulsed a miniscule rhythm that didn’t let him in any further or pull him out. Shit, the way that dragged his foreskin up and down the sensitive tip made hoarse breath drop from the Devil’s mouth and he clenched his hands in the ruined covers.  
“Mmm, mmm, you feel so good in me, but I think my skin’s numb – “ Sam giggled with elation, then gasped with eyes that rolled as he teased himself, lubed himself up with Lucifer’s slick. His legs were limp dead weights around Lucifer’s hips and beneath the Devil’s lust and desperation, there was smugness too – he’d fucked Sam so good he couldn’t even move properly. A heavy shot of pleasure ached through his groin as Sam’s ass played around him, and a short grunt caught in his throat.  
“Let me in further, Sam.” Lucifer could have just pushed in, taken what he wanted, but he wanted to see Sam do it.  
“Say please.” Sam slurred and squeezed his ass around the head inside him. Lucifer’s stomach muscles flickered and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Holy shit, that made his whole body shake and he was in half a mind just to nail this sassy bastard again. But why the hell not play along?  
“Please, my pretty.” Lucifer dropped his tone to a honeyed murmur and Sam’s hand shifted, and pushed Lucifer’s cock into him in a slow, fucking torturous rhythm. It took a lot to throw the Devil over the edge, but Sam had him shaking, glowing with heat and unable to even think straight. Probably half of it was the state he’d gotten the hunter into, but shit… Lucifer just panted and tore the cover in his delirious pleasure.

“There!” Sam moaned and stopped his cock, just pressed it hard up against the side of him nearest his belly, but Lucifer was far from fully seated. The hunter’s relaxed, handsome face flushed and Lucifer watched him, transfixed, as Sam dropped his head back and urged him in faster. More moans tore out of Sam’s slack lips, not like the previous, helpless ones, but shameless, indulgent and downright dirty, and Lucifer’s cock throbbed with pressure.  
“Sam…” He growled, but wasn’t even sure whether the hunter could hear him over the sounds of him pleasuring himself. He needed it, he needed it now, fuck…the Devil gave in. He dissolved the ring around the base of his cock, gritted his teeth for a moment and a half just to feel the silky bind of Sam’s ass give that sweet fucking friction. 

It was far too much. Intense pleasure coiled deep inside him like electricity building a charge, and then ripped up through his body so hard that his eyes flew back and his wings lashed out, straight through the walls. Lucifer grabbed Sam’s hips and gave a throaty cry as he rammed himself fully inside the hot squeeze and filled it up with his seed, pumped it into Sam’s body until it was slick and hot around him. Sam screamed like a man possessed and curled inwards, but Lucifer barely felt him dry orgasm, just clung onto those slim hips as his pleasure overwhelmed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer said he'd get him good and he did, lol. I love having an archangel to work with, they come with so many options ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒᶰᵉ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ᵐᵉ ᶦ'ᵐ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ ᵈᶦʳᵗʸ ʰᵒᵉ ;) If you enjoyed the chapter, as always I would love to hear what you thought of it! You guys are all so wonderful and your comments and kudos make my week n.n I went through the E rated Samifer tag again the other night and it made me grumpy, so I'm really glad I wrote this fic for everyone to just have a good time c: Also, if any of you are in the Overwatch fandom, perchance, I've started a new fun McHanzo fic that you can check out [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8591179/chapters/19701049) Stay awesome my buddies °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	18. In Which Sam Becomes A Calendar Boy And There Are Feelings

It had almost been half an hour. And Dean didn’t want to think about what Lucifer plus Sam plus half an hour alone might come to. Not that he didn’t trust his brother, but he didn’t trust his brother. If Sam had left the Devil well alone after their ‘totally not sex’ in the motel, then yeah, maybe Dean would’ve been able to give him some leeway. But the way his brother laughed around the creep and let him into his personal space and then disappearing at the ball without warning like that… Maybe Sam wanted a hookup that wouldn’t die on him. Maybe Sam just bonded with blondes better. Maybe Sam was just happy that an angel actually liked him – a cruel swing of irony really; Sammy had always been the one praying and believing in angels and now Dean was the one who was practically catnip to the bastards and Sam had the Devil on his ass. Or in his ass. Depending what Sam had bargained for their freedom.

Dean gave himself a little shiver and made a face at the very unwanted mental image that cropped up at that one. Little did he know that soon he would not need his imagination.  
“Dean.” Cas’s deep tone in his ear made the hunter jump like a cat noticing a cucumber that had been secretly placed behind it. Dean swallowed whatever organs had tried to choke out his throat and turned to the little dude. They’d wrestled with the angel’s corset and hoop skirts as, although Cas looked so very pretty, he couldn’t actually fit through non-rich-people doors with those skirts, and was now back in his familiar trenchcoat. Lucifer had seemingly left it undamaged because even the Devil had some respect for The Holy Trenchcoat. With his full range of movement restored, Cas had gone to try and find Sam. 

Now the angel seemed nervous with a sheaf of photographs clutched in both hands suspiciously close to his body. Like he didn’t want Dean to see them. What in Heaven was going on here.  
“Cas?” Dean tried and accidentally dove into Cas’s blue lagoon eyes. The angel seemed to wait for him to recover from his refreshing dip, but didn’t budge his grip on the photographs.  
“I did not find them.” Cas began, then looked at Dean, then glanced down at the card in his hand, like he was unsure what the worse fate would be – to make Dean grumpy by not letting him see what he’d brought back or actually showing Dean the damn things. He came across as a small child nervous about their drawing, and by God that was cute. It actually felt nice to admit Cas was cute.  
“And those?” Seeing warning signs was not Dean’s strong point, however.  
“Um.” Cas stared at him, and Dean half expected him to laugh nervously and say ‘oh nothing’. But Cas didn’t laugh unless he’d dropped truthbombs on prostitutes or lived in the future, high on a buttload of drugs.  
“These…I believe Lucifer sensed my presence and sent us…gifts.” Cas could have won the grand slam poker title with a face as blank as that, but if anything it just made Dean more curious. And curiosity was about to publicly execute this cat.  
“C’mon Cas, let me see. It can’t be that bad.” He reached over and hooked a finger between Cas and the photograph card. What the Hell did Lucifer have to take photographs of anyway? They both sort of looked at Dean’s finger squooshed against Cas’s chest for a moment. Then the angel seemed to crumble under his glistening, fanfiction green eyes, and let him slide the first few off the stack.  
Oh dear.

The first one just showed Sam kneeling, shirtless, with his back to them, head directly at a completely naked Lucifer’s crotch level. The Devil’s legs were spread either side of Sam and his head was tipped back in the most cliché orgasm face ever. All with high-contrast slightly bronze-tinged sex-magazine photoshop. Dean could hear that fucking asshole archangel sniggering at his death glare from here.  
“Hooray. Sam’s a Satanic porn star.” Dean threw up his hands and tossed the picture on the table as disgust or anger or something violent burned down his stomach.  
“Your brother can get into some…very interesting positions.” The angel turned one around then squinted and Dean decided to sacrifice his own mental stability for Cas’s innocence.  
“Hey, give me those!” Dean snatched the rest away, and knew he shouldn’t have looked, knew he really should have just ripped ‘em all up and tossed them in the trash, but he’d never been big on impulse control. In fact both Cas and Sam were his main impulse control.  
In hindsight, Dean wished Cas had tried a bit harder.

There was Sam pressed up against a wall, eyes squeezed tight, evidently enjoying every bit of his deal with the Devil while Lucifer bit into his shoulder. There was Sam spread like a whore around Lucifer’s hips, tastefully shot so all genitals were out the way. There was Lucifer from the back (jeez, he could have gone his entire life without seeing Satan’s asscrack, but he’d decided to shuffle through these damn things so that was on him) with Sam’s legs up in the air around his shoulders. It just went on and on, and Dean was in half a mind to ask Cas to just wipe the entire last five minutes out of his memory.  
The last one was black, but in glowing pink, curly writing was just ‘Love, Luci and Sam xoxo’, which was _the most_ snide piece of writing Dean had ever seen in his life.  
“I had a feeling this might happen.” Cas managed a nicely disguised ‘I told you so’ and Dean rolled his glaring eyes.  
“Well what the hell do we do?” He threw the rest of Lucifer’s damn smarmy pictures on the table.  
Cas just shrugged and tilted his head as though he were trying to figure out which way around a particularly creative snap of his brother entangled in Satanic passion went.  
“Hope your brother does not cry ‘yes’ during sex?”  
“Gee thanks Cas, that’s a comfort.” Dean muttered. Well, if Lucifer wouldn’t let Cas get to Sam, he should at least give it a shot.

Dean yanked his phone out of the jeans he’d changed into ages ago and speed-dialled his dumbass whore brother. Yeah, he’d always been gung-ho to get Sam an adventurous hook up. But actual Satan wasn’t just crossing the line, it was soaring like a duck on steroids over the line and off into the horizon.  
“Sam?!” Dean half expected Sam not to pick up, but his brother exceeded expectations.  
“Unnh…Dean??” Sam slurred, and it threw the older Winchester off his rage-tracks for a second. Then Sam gave the kind of giggle that only happened when he was high or had downed a lot of hard liquor.  
“Dude…are you drunk?”  
Sam was really slipping off the wagon wasn’t he? His brother gave a contented groan down the phone and shifted.  
“Dean, Dean…I think Lucifer fucked me so good that I’m in another plane of reality.” Sam giggle-snorted. “Everything’s all blurry here…”  
“Fear not, Dean, he is not on another plane.” Cas said with a kind of serious concentration that would have made Dean laugh if his brother wasn’t Satan’s enthusiastic bitch.  
“Dude, what do I even say to that?” Dean threw up his free hand. So Sam had been bought with good sex. Who was this and what had they done with his brother? “Don’t you realize this is nine kinds of wrong, Sammy?”  
“D’n’t care. ‘m too happy.” Sam mumbled in a way that would have been cute if it hadn’t been induced by riding the Devil’s dick. “Lucifer’s my friend. He’s good to me. He doesn’t judge me. I’m tired ‘f bein’ judged. It makes me sad.”  
“Sam you can’t seriously believe he’s being honest with you?” Dean shot a helpless look at Cas and realized that maybe this was a kick in the teeth for trying to teach Sam a lesson with guilt.

Another voice came through on the line, but not loud enough for Dean to hear what it said.  
“ ’t’s Dean.” Sam slurred in reply.  
“Mmm, is that why you look so miserable?” Lucifer was near enough now to hear him clear enough. “How about I cheer you up?”  
“Sam, seriously!” Dean growled, and desperation crawled up his chest like a sickness. Lucifer had done exactly what Dean had thought he would; wormed his way close to Sam with lies and deception and now he had Sam like a fly in a spider’s web. There was also the option that they’d made Sam feel so down about starting the Apocalypse that he didn’t care, but Dean would leave that until another day when he needed a nice punch of angst to the gut.  
“D’nt w’rry ‘bout me Dean, but – oh! – I think we’re gonna be – _fuck_ – a little while.” Sam practically moaned into the phone as Lucifer ‘cheered him up’. “How does your tongue fucking…Unh, shit! Just, uh, you two go h-have eye sex or-r real sex or whatever – “  
His stupid brother broke off into gasps and Dean could already feel another photo album brewing. No thanks. The hunter cut the call and pressed a frustrated, sad hand against his forehead. That idiot. That first class idiot.  
“Well, what do we do now?” Dean sighed and looked up to his best friend who he so didn’t appreciate enough.  
The little angel shrugged and looked as done as Dean felt. “Shall we take Sam’s advice?”  
Dean opened his mouth and tried to remember around the trauma blot-outs of his brother’s sex noises what that had been. As he recalled it, his heart beat just a little louder. “What…have sex?”  
“…Yes?” Cas tried, and Dean gaped.  
“Cas!!” 

First of all, that was the most blunt pick up line since ‘I lost your number, can I have yours’ and second of all, shouldn’t they be doing something about Sam’s situation? If anything could be done about Sam’s situation.  
Although… it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it over the last day. And if Sam was truly with Lucifer now, it might not be long before Devil got up in him in another kind of way and proceed to kill everyone. And, well, Dean had never been one for ‘what ifs’ or regrets. In fact he practically sponsored ‘last night on Earth’ indulgences. But with Cas? And his sexy-ass lips and sparkling blue eyes? His deep, rumbling voice and the wonderful way he moved in a fight? His pretty face and A+ ass? Just the thought made him swallow and get the stupid nervous flutters and rid his mind completely and totally of Sam and Lucifer and the various amount of positions they might be in right now. Also, he was pretty sure the angel still had that candy g-string on.  
So Dean took a breath.  
He shrugged.  
He felt a little giddy, a little lighter than usual.  
Happy, in fact, which made no sense.  
“Alright then.”  
Cas stared at him for a moment in disbelief, then tackled him onto the bed.

***

When Sam woke up, he wasn’t even sure he was in the same room they’d practically destroyed last night. That was when you knew you’d had a good night – when you passed out in a heap so sticky you could have been bathing in jello, in a broken bed, on top of Satan. Finally, he could beat Dean in sexcapade stories. His fuzzed brain swam around the thought of why he and Dean even exchanged sexcapade stories in the first place, as they were brothers and that was weird, but Sam had given up on normal since his girlfriend had been flambéed on the ceiling by his demonic blood donator.

The second thought that hit him was ‘my ass should be ten kinds of wrecked’. He was pretty sure they’d done ten kinds of ass-wrecking, five of which he didn’t think it was possible for any human lover to perform, and two of which he wasn’t sure were legal. But it seemed the benefits of dating one of the most powerful creatures in existence was that they could un-wreck your ass after creative, hard sex. Sam stared at his own bicep for a moment as his situation caught up with him. Now that he wasn’t delirious on dick, the angst he’d buried a little while ago decided to thrust its hand out of the earth like a cliché zombie and rise up inside him with a groan. Was this just like Ruby all over again? Out to seduce him with whatever means possible and then use him? But this didn’t feel like Ruby. Levels of Hellish Power aside, this was worse. With Ruby he’d been wary, he’d entered into a grudging friendship and then a relationship of lust and hunger. He’d been so confident, so self-righteous and hooked on power like a disease. He’d used her to feel stronger and better. But Lucifer? The warm chest pressed up against his back, the loose arm around his waist?  
  
Ridiculous connection aside, Sam felt as though he’d almost be lost without the snarky archangel and it had nothing to do with whatever absolute sin had gone on last night. It was like he didn’t need more power or to be better because Lucifer always assured him he was the best the way he was – not even with words. With warm eyes and little smiles and a relaxed open stance and Sam had memorized every single one of those little things, and he hated it. In a week or so, he’d gone from an apologetic, angry, violent thing with low self-esteem, to someone who laughed more than they frowned and actually felt content with themselves.

Sam watched his own fingers curl on the pillow beside him and swallowed as a tear leaked out the corner of his eye. This might all be a game for Lucifer. Maybe this was what he’d wanted all along, to get Sam attached to him, dependent on him, and even if it wasn’t, Sam could never get proof.  
He almost flat-lined from a surprise heart attack when gentle lips brushed over the curve of his bare neck.  
“You’re not ok.” Lucifer murmured against his skin, and the hand around his waist trailed up over his chest to touch the wet path on Sam’s cheek. The archangel let the silence lie, and Sam didn’t know what to do. True, he was the less emotionally constipated of the Winchesters, but talking to the Devil about your feelings seemed almost childish. Then again, that might be vetoed when the Devil was your lover and potential eternal possession buddy.  
“What is this we have, Lucifer?” Sam knew he sounded more miserable than he intended, but he shifted in Lucifer’s arms to face him. Those pale blue eyes considered him as the archangel’s fingers stroked through his hair. It was nice. It really was. He didn’t want to think about how it reminded him of Jess, except even with Jess there had been deception. Lucifer knew everything. Knew who he was, what he did, even how he liked his goddamn coffee.  
“I don’t know.” The blonde guy frowned. “But I like it. And I don’t really know why. Honestly, before I met you the idea was repulsive to me.”  
“Thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel special.” Sam rolled his eyes, but stroked the smatter of hair across the Devil’s chest. In a way, the brutally honest answer kinda comforted him; Lucifer hadn’t gone all Python of Seduction and been like ‘Because it is our destiny, oh beloved one’, but kinda laid it flat on the table. Although despite the comfort, Sam had to ask the question that had been going through his head since he woke. If the archangel lived up to his promise of not telling lies, it would get him answers.  
“Is this all a trick to get me to say yes to you?” Sam clenched his teeth and met Lucifer’s eyes, ready for him to brush off the question or change the subject or even get offended. But Lucifer considered him with a deep stare that might have been proof of his familial relation to Castiel.  
“No.” Lucifer looked as though he were tasting the word on his lips. But simple as that. Just no. “I mean yes would be a bonus, but that’s your choice. It’s always been your choice.”

Sam didn’t really know what to say to that. It was a strange contrast to Michael’s lackeys – Zachariah and co, who’d tried to lung-cancer consent out of Dean. He could feel himself walk a very dangerous line, where the option to say ‘yes’ suddenly had some positives. Very selfish positives, but the fact that they were even there scared him.  
“Lucifer…” He trailed off and nudged his head into the dip of the archangel’s shoulder. “What happens when you get your Apocalypse? If you kill Michael, if the angels leave and humanity is destroyed. There are rumours that you would kill the demons too. Then what? Then it’ll be you, alone in an empty world with no family, no playthings, no nothing.”  
Lucifer’s arm smoothed up the shoulder not pressed into the mattress and he sighed. Sam reminded himself to tease Satan about cuddling at a Less Serious Moment. “I never wanted to kill Michael. It’s him following daddy’s little rule book that’s got him fixated on that.”  
Sam felt as though his satanic lover had more to say, so he let the silence persuade him.  
  
Sure enough, after studying them snuggling in the ceiling mirror for a moment, Lucifer continued.  
“I’ve created a new species before, Sam. I could try again. Maybe model them on the Onkwehonwe, the native Americans. They always respected the earth and their surroundings.” Lucifer put a finger against his lower lip at the thought, and Sam was hit by the fact that he was in bed with a being that could literally create a completely new species on a whim. That kinda brought things into perspective.  
“You environmentalist shit.” Sam smirked into Lucifer’s skin, and expected a face of mock offense or something, but the Devil looked at him with an arched eyebrow.  
“The Earth is my Father’s most beautiful creation. The most complex, beautiful, glorious, unique thing, one in an infinity. You coming in a close second of course.” The sly dog winked and kissed Sam’s forehead.  
“Put your snake tongue away.” Sam grinned, despite the sudden, fair argument Lucifer presented. Humans were bastards to the earth, yes. But people were also smart enough to fix the problems, although whether they’d get there in time was another matter. Sam wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to be an eon-old massively powerful being. The bigger picture must be huge.

“Mmm, I would but I know how much you like it.” Lucifer eased his head down to kiss him, all gentle lips and the soft scrape of stubble. “And I wouldn’t be alone; I’d have you and you’d have whoever you wanted to save. And I’m sure we could find a million ways to entertain ourselves – you know what I can do to your body. Just imagine what I can do to your soul.”  
“You think I’m that easy?” Sam raised his eyebrows, but despite their banter, it weighed on him. The angel on his shoulder said ‘save the fucking human race you idjit’ while the demon said ‘fuck em and go.’ Little did he know this was almost literal; the side effects of sharing a mental link with Satan was that The Devil got a little softer and Sam hadn’t noticed himself get less forgiving.  
Lucifer (or his psychically attached 300,000th) seemed to pick up on Sam’s angst invasion. “Nothing about this is easy, Sammy. But let’s forget about that for a while, hmm?”  
The Devil sat up and considered him, a playful smile overtaking the warm one. “Now didn’t I promise you a date?  
“That you did.” Fucking adorable Satan trying to comfort him. Sam supposed he could delay the inevitable decision for just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! My computer got a virus and so have I :/ Things are getting toward the end a bit (only 2 chapters to go!) so the angst is trying to claw it's way in there, but hopefully not too much :P Forrestwyrm did another awesome sketch of Cara this time, so check it out [here](http://forrestwyrm.tumblr.com/post/153702606296/cara-from-inseparable-the-best-samifer-fic-to) :D As always, thank you so much for reading and I would love to hear what you thought of this slightly more feelsy chapter lol. Cheers for all of your amazing comments and kudos so far, you guys always make my week! x) Stay awesome my buddies *:..｡o○(✿ ˘ ³˘)♥○o｡..:*  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	19. In Which Sam's Bitch Levels Go Over 9000 And Nobody Is Ok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I don't know whether this is serious or silly :P I kinda followed the script in one part, so I guess that bit's serious? Ish? ᵉʰ ᵈᵒᶰ'ᵗ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᶦᵗ ᵗᵒᵒ ˢᵉʳᶦᵒᵘˢᶫʸ Idk, have fun c:

In a rare turn of events, everything went To Plan. Sam couldn’t bear to see the Satanic Overlord he’d grown to love burn up his vessel and then get wrecked by Michael, so a few weeks later when they were Netflix and Chilling in Detroit, he said Yes.  
Out of his newly found ‘profound bond’ with Castiel, Dean couldn’t bear to say yes to Michael after his fallen boyfriend suicide bombed the angel squad with a banishing sigil. With his fantastic luck, or maybe the ever-rolling train of Fate, Adam still got hijacked by Michael.  
Lucifer descended into Hell in his rightful vessel and was met by a tiny cleaning Jezrou bouncing up and down with a magical scroll. The Devil and Sam took one look at it and didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. Lucifer was in half a mind to explode ‘Dongle’ on the spot, but Sam pointed out that despite the extreme danger, it had worked. Dongle got his squid harem, miniature palace and golden cleaning equipment.  
  
Then it came to the proverbial High Noon. Deep down, Sam wasn’t sure whether he was ready to be responsible for genocide and Lucifer wasn’t sure he was ready to kill his beloved brother, but they both kept a stoic, manly silence and kissed for good luck, as neither of them were really the ‘goodbye’ kind of guy if Michael turned out to have been working out all these years and suplexed Lucifer into the trash.  
And so it came to be the Michael and Lucifer came face to face in the Stoll Cemetery.

  
Sam had wondered what it’d be like to be possessed by an angel. He’d been possessed by a demon, which largely felt like retrograde murder amnesia with a side of sodium intolerance, and in comparison this was like a five star hotel. To be honest, most hosts were probably not their angel’s eternal possession husband, but that was their loss. He could see out his own eyes from a space behind them; he could go and walk among his memories, he could ask Lucifer for control of his own body whenever he liked. He never got lonely; Lucifer could use their body and manifest in their mind-space with him at the same time for as much as he needed him. They did all the stupid, soppy things like talk and laugh and then get pissed off at each other when they needed their space. It’d take a bit of getting used to, but if Destiny wasn’t a lying hoe and Lucifer didn’t get them bitch slapped to death by Michael, Sam was pretty sure he’d have literal eternity to get used to it.

The hunter paced behind his own eyes, as nerves dances an award-winning Cha-Cha up his chest. In their mind-space, Lucifer had stilled at the sight of his brother. When Sam had said the magic word, their mind and body connection had been broken and replaced with something almost more intimate – well, Lucifer was literally inside him, and not just in the usual way. Although it didn’t really stop the wild sex, more amped it up. Whoo boy, Lucifer hadn’t been kidding when he said he could get down and dirty with a soul. But Sam was brought back from the fond memories by the change that slithered into his archangel. A change of stance. Something softer in his eyes. Sadness, yearning and ache. Although despite that, Lucifer smirked just a little as he looked down a good three inches on his big brother. 

“Yeah, I know what that feels like.” Sam shot Satan a smug smile and smoothed a hand up between his shoulders. Lucifer still looked like Nick to him and although he wanted to Daddy-kink-shame himself into a hole in the ground, Sam was very pleased with the arrangement. “Dean looked like a stunned fish when he realized he was gonna be the short one of the family.”  
Lucifer gave a little ‘hm’ of laughter, but although he was the one who’d kinda put a ring on it, Sam felt like his old role as the Cas-Dean third wheel was being reprised with the Heavenly brofest. Well, as much as he’d like to leave these two alone, Sam wanted to see this through. He didn’t want to go off on a wander through their recent, incredible flying expeditions to come back and find Michael face down in a puddle of tears and Jaegerbombs while God Almighty, Returned He, gave Lucifer a spray about being a human-fucking hypocrite as Jesus tattooed ‘Peace, Love and 5,000 Fishes’ on their collective left bicep. So Sam crossed his arms and waited.  
  
“It’s good to see you, Michael.” Lucifer addressed his brother and there was enough sincerity in that sentence for Sam to feel a little crack in his heart about the fact that his angel-husband would have to deal Michael a satanic neck-snap.  
“You too.” The older archangel seemed a little less heartfelt, but perhaps it was just difficult to make Adam’s face look anything but angry or bored. “It’s been too long.”  
“Can you believe it’s finally here?” Lucifer’s whole body was transfixed on his brother, and for a moment Sam could see the little squish archangel and his big bro going around and doing the Heavenly equivalent of brotherly bonding over learning how to poker hustle and field run a gun. Ah, sweet memories. For a moment Sam wondered what other brothers actually did to bond. Go…Xbox shopping? 

Michael paced towards them and despite his slight mental distractions, Sam could almost feel the air pressure drop. As though they were standing inside a bubble ready to burst.  
“No, not really.” The King of Heaven dropped his shoulders, and Sam wondered if he was as disgruntled about their general size difference as he imagined the archangel to be. Seriously, in real life Sam could have probably hoisted Adam over his shoulder like Fiona in Shrek and punted him into a lake if he’d tried to start trouble. “Are you ready?”  
Lucifer took a deep breath, and Sam narrowed his eyes. He’d never seen Lucifer act like this, this sorrow, this longing he could see in the body and eyes he knew so well. Sam wished he could do something, comfort him or boost his mood, but an awkward ‘pat pat’ on the back probably wouldn’t help in a cataclysmic archangelic decision on whether to destroy half the world in a brotherly murderfest.  
“As I’ll ever be.” Lucifer replied, and didn’t even seem to notice Sam’s worried glances. He could have been invisible, and that was a wee bit worrying if Lucifer decided to do something rash. Because when the Devil got rash, things generally went in the fire and brimstone direction.

The two archangels stared at each other for a moment.  
“Part of me wishes we didn’t have to do this.” Lucifer offered, like a line to a drowning sailor.  
“Yeah. Me too.” Michael sighed back and Sam wondered why they couldn’t just hi-five and make up, but it was probably the fact that Michael wanted Hell vacuum sealed and Lucifer wanted to barbeque humanity that stopped it. He had a sudden, strange mental image of Lucifer in Australia in shorts and sunnies flipping limbs over a barbie. Sam also wondered whether Lucifer could see his thoughts and if they were somewhat detracting from the mood.  
“Then why are we?” Apparently Lucifer wasn’t paying attention to Sam’s thoughts and reasoning, so they were all good. Or the archangel was straight up ignoring him, which was fair.  
“Oh, you know why.” Michael’s eyes hardened and Sam saw the Lucifer beside him tighten his jaw. True, the archangel could have left him alone through this, but staying with Sam had become so much of a habit between them, that he might just be here without realizing it. “I have no choice after what you did.”  
Ooh snap, Michael was going there.  
“What I did? What if it’s not my fault?” Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, and he brought them within a couple of feet of his brother.  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“Think about it. Dad made everything, which means God made me who I am. God wanted the Devil.” Lucifer reasoned, but by that logic, God must have also wanted Gabriel, the archangel of bad daytime TV and genital herpes. Either Yahweh gave no fucks or simply had a very, very twisted sense of humour. Sam wondered what Raphael was like. All he’d heard was that he was Explodatron 5000, but given the other archangels, if that was his only directive Sam wouldn’t be surprised.

Michael looked away like a dramatic schoolgirl who’d just been slapped. “So?”  
“So why? And why make us fight? I just can’t figure out the point.” Lucifer sighed and Sam wondered whether God just had a celestial bet with some other immortal and wanted to see if he’d win. Maybe this was like WWE for douchebag deity dads.  
“What’s your point?” Michael’s retorts were seriously getting worse. Either he couldn’t match up with snake-tongued seducer in debating, or he’d taken on a bit of Adam’s kinda whiny personality.  
“We’re going to kill each other. For what? One of Dad’s tests. And we don’t even know the answer. We’re brothers. Let’s just walk off the chessboard.” Lucifer tried. Sam could tell he meant every word, and the hunter felt his reasons: first of all, he didn’t want to kill Michael, not really. Second of all, this went against all of Lucifer’s free will; to follow the script and play along. If Sam knew anything, it was that the Devil played by his own rules or sometimes Sam’s in kinky bedroom conditions.  
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I’m a good son, and I have my orders.” Michael pressed, and it was odd how Sam recognized those words, that tone; when Dad had been alive, Dean had sounded just like the King of Heaven.  
“You don’t have to follow them.” Lucifer insisted, but Sam could feel a desperate pressure build in their chest.  
“What, you think I’m gonna rebel? Now? I’m not like you!” To be fair, that was all Michael had: a sense of duty, just like Lucifer clung on to his sense of freedom. If God really had made them like this, man was he a top class celestial asshole.  
“Please Michael.” Lucifer almost sounded like he were about to cry and it was breaking Sam’s giant moose heart to see him like this. 

Yes, Lucifer was a bit…problematic at times. But locking someone away, alone, without help or consolidation or even a second chance wasn’t the fucking way to deal with it, genius. Especially a stupidly powerful archangel who will one day rise and fuck all your shit up. Death might have been kinder.  
“And you haven’t changed a bit, little brother. Always blaming everybody but yourself. We were together, we were happy, but you betrayed me, all of us, and you made our father leave.” Michael protested, and the more Sam listened to their pair, the more he recognized this argument. Dayum, as the daddy issues were in Heaven, so they must be on Earth, apparently.  
“Nobody makes dad do anything. He is doing this to us!” Lucifer insisted, and if this had been a court case, Sam would have had several arguments, three boxes of evidence and a neat bar graph to support Satan’s case.  
“You’re a monster Lucifer. And I have to kill you.” Michael’s words seemed to hit Lucifer like a knife through the heart. He stilled, and Sam swore he felt something deep down inside both of them go very cold. For a moment the archangel seemed to shrink, but Sam wasn’t gonna let any hoe, King of Heaven or not, talk shit like that to his satanic husband. This was Lucifer’s absolute nightmare, Michael beating him down all over again, and hell no was he gonna suffer it alone.  
“What an absolute dick.” Sam spat, and balled his fists in an attempt to stop himself from punching himself in the brain. “Put me in control and I’ll knock his fucking teeth out or tear his wings off, the bastard. You’re right and he’s just a blinkered douchebag.”

For the first time in the exchange between the two brothers, Lucifer looked at him and his anger and narrowed his eyes. Sam wondered whether he’d crossed the line by so creatively and violently threatening Lucifer’s beloved brother, but not a shit did he give. Lucky for him, Satan seemed to agree.  
They shared a look and Sam gave him the nod. “Fuck him up.”  
“If that’s the way it’s gotta be. Then I’d like to see you try.” Lucifer’s sadness seemed swept away by a bitter blizzard of wrath at Michael’s words, or was it Sam’s own rage he felt pulse through them? For that moment, they were more one than they’d ever been, both bent on socking Michael so hard upside the jaw that he sailed right back to Heaven. They paced around each other in a circle, and Sam had never been happier with his decision to let Lucifer in; Michael had a second-class vessel, like Lucifer’s plan B with Nick. They already had the high ground, and whereas Adam was probably squished into the back of his own head, Lucifer had his own personal cheer-leader, inspirational quote reciter and confidence-boosting dick-sucker if need be. They got this. They fucking got this.  
And then Dean came in like a mullet-rock wrecking ball. 

Sam’s rage fizzled out into a great big ‘oh shit’. This could only end in tears. Dean shouldn’t be here. They’d cut things off on a slightly disgruntled, dick-drunk note and Sam wasn’t sure how he and his brother stood, but no matter what happened, he couldn’t let Dean get hurt. The safety of his friends and family had been part of the deal when he’d let Lucifer in, but when he put himself in the firing line like this, especially with the archangel Dean had spurned being here…  
“Howdy boys. Sorry, am I interrupting something?” Dean was as smug and cocky as always as he shut the Impala door and walk towards them, but it was actually really good just to see him again. But not here. Not like this. “We need to talk.”  
“Dean, get out of here!” Sam didn’t even see Lucifer and Michael exchange a glance like they were both ready to put down their differences to beat up a hoe they both hated. He wasn’t paying attention to what either of the archangels said, because he already knew Dean’s life was headed off towards Destination Fucked.  
“Lucifer, let – “ Sam started over whatever Michael was saying.  
“Hey! Assbutt!” Castiel yelled and before either Sam or Lucifer could react, Michael fucking went up in flames. Holy shit Cas. He’d gone from being stunt angel number 1 to fucking Molotoving the King of Heaven. Sam had forgotten how endearing the trenchcoated angel was. 

“Assbutt?” Dean raised his eyebrows and Castiel shrugged.  
“He’ll be back. And upset. But you got your five minutes.”  
“Castiel. Did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?” Lucifer turned on Sam’s friend with the chill of an Ice Age, and the hunter realized the shit was about to not just hit the fan but crush it into a million pieces and set it on fire.  
“Lucifer, calm down.” He decided that if anyone was not going to get bitchslapped into non-existence, it was going to be him, so he grabbed the archangel’s shoulder, but Lucifer just shook him off as Castiel stammered out a ‘no’. “Lucifer, don’t you fucking dare!”  
“No-one dicks with Michael but me.” Lucifer didn’t even seem to hear him, and seemed to emanate cold, like a block of ice so thick nothing can break through it. Sam tried to move, but found himself frozen as the archangel raised his hand.  
“Lucifer, please! You swore!” He begged for Castiel’s life, but it was too late – The Devil made it rain the angel’s guts in a rather magnificent explosion.  
“Lucifer, let me go!” Sam yelled over Dean’s cry. He’d expected some times to be a little rough, what with having Satan for husband, but this crossed the line.  
“He burned my brother alive, Sam!” Lucifer snarled and turned on him, eyes like flint, but Sam wasn’t even nervous. It’s difficult to be too scared of someone once you’ve seen them eating your ass like they’re drilling for oil.

“Sammy, can you hear me?” Dean interrupted at possibly the worst time. He looked as though he’d had his heart ripped out in front of his eyes, but Sam felt the annoyance Lucifer had always harboured for Dean leap up into a forest fire. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Not Dean.  
“You know…I tried to be nice. For Sammy’s sake. But you are such a pain…” Lucifer took Dean by the jacket collar. “In my ass.”  
Oh, he crossed the line. Sam growled and struggled as Lucifer hurled Dean against the Impala so hard it cracked the windowscreen.  
“Think of all the times he judged you Sammy, all the times he made you feel like a monster.” Lucifer stalked up to Dean, and Sam wrenched against the power that held him. The sound of a gunshot echoed through the cemetery, and Sam began to think saying Yes to this whole debacle had been a mistake as Lucifer turned and just snapped Bobby’s neck.  
“Lucifer, bring him back! I won’t forgive you for this!” Sam roared and felt tears prick at his eyes. Something had broken inside Lucifer, from the second Michael had called him a monster, a well of blind wrath and reckless hatred and goddamn it, Sam had fuelled it. The archangel he’d grown to love wasn’t the one he saw now, this batshit insane thing that was systematically murdering everyone Sam loved, who’d frozen him out. Was he finally seeing Lucifer’s true colours or was this the side effect of what Michael had said? 

Either way, he couldn’t let Dean get pounded to death by his questionable choice in a life partner. Maybe it was time Lucifer saw his true colours too. He wasn’t just a ken doll to be bundled up in a corner when playtime was over. He was Sam fucking Winchester, inheritor of The Most Stubborn Bastard title from his father.  
“Sammy, are you in there?” Dean dripped some blood at them, but it didn’t really help. Sam didn’t hear Lucifer reply over his own focus. He felt bones break under their knuckles, but gathered up his will, every ounce of it and pushed. He arms moved. Then his legs. Then by sheer will, Lucifer’s power over him snapped, but the archangel was so into his pain party that he didn’t notice.  
“I think you’re right. Lucifer has gone a little cuckoo.”  
Sam got the fucking fright of his life as his old friend, that weird, sentient 300, 000th of Lucifer appeared beside him.  
“A spell in the cooler might do him some good.” Pocket Lucifer put a finger to his lip as the sounds of Dean dying echoed in the background.  
“Help me.” Sam growled, and the piece of the archangel nodded.  
“You get the con, commander, I’ll distract the captain.” Fun size Lucifer winked and vanished. Sam hoped the fragment knew what it was doing, and grappled the Deluxe version from behind.  
“Sam, get off me!” Lucifer choked, then yelped as that 300,000th ripped at him.  
“No! You didn’t listen to me, you didn’t respect what I had to say or the promises you made me, you’ve nearly killed everyone I care about, and you think I’m gonna take that sitting down?” Sam turned his champion will on his body, and panted at the strain of holding Lucifer down, even with his piece of essence hurting him.

“It’s ok, Dean, it’s gonna be ok. I’ve got him.” Sam pulled out the rings from his pocket, and it was Lucifer’s turn to yell in disbelief. Haha, Satan, you thought you could be a bitch to me without me returning the favour? Sam thought and proved why they were assholes made for each other once again as he chanted the ritual words. So he’d spend eternity with a pissy husband. Lucifer didn’t deserve his goddamn Apocalypse for killing all of Sam’s friends. He could fucking suck Sam’s dick.  
“Sam!” Oh look, that hoe Michael was back. What a joy. “It’s not gonna end this way. Step back!”  
Michael shook his head, and Sam felt Lucifer kick against him, but he prayed to the Lord of Stubbornness, his father who probably was in Heaven, Sam wasn’t sure, and kept the douche he’d all but married pinned.  
“Make me, bitch!” Sam was done with the pair of them. He was taking Lucifer on a rage-filled honeymoon downstairs and if Michael wanted to stop them, well Sam would fucking drag his ass down too. The mood he was in, he’d fight the fucking sun if it wanted to go. All his friends were dead and he was fucking pissed.  
“I have to fight my brother, Sam! Here and now. It’s my destiny!” Michael yelled but he might’ve been yelling at a brick wall for all the good it would have done.  
“Screw you, screw your brother and screw destiny.” Sam yelled back, and even though Dean’s face was a bloodied pulp, he knew he’d made him proud.  
“Sam!” Lucifer cried, and the desperation in his voice almost made him falter. But they’d both gone too far to stop, so Sam gritted his teeth and fell back toward the pit. A hand caught his shoulder, and it appeared that Michael did indeed want to third wheel on their relationship problems. So Sam grabbed the bitch and hauled him in too. The fucking more the fucking merrier.  
“Skill point if you do a flip on the way down, asshole.” Sam growled because his bitch levels were currently over 9000, and then darkness swallowed all four of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama!! The cliffhanger!! The feelings!! Haha, anyhoo, hope you enjoyed this chapter and I would love to hear what you thought of it x) thank you so much to everyone who has already left kudos and comments, you all make my day and are fantastic. The Last Chapter is next, so hold on tight everybody! Though there's gonna be a nice surprise at the end, so don't get too down ;) But as always my buddies, stay awesome ♥✲ﾟ*:₀｡(◕▿◕ )  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


	20. In Which Dongle Saves The World And There Is A Happy Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ready for the last chapter? Y'all READY? On your marks. Get set. Go!

There was black and the whoosh of air for longer than Sam could count. Sometimes he could sense Lucifer with him, other times another presence he assumed was either Michael or Adam, but nothing came of it. It was almost as if he were asleep; time blurred, images and sounds that didn’t make sense swirled in his brain, then everything was brought back to clarity by a deafening _clang!_  
“Ugh…” The floor blurred for a moment, but the first thing Sam noticed was that Lucifer wasn’t inside of him anymore. Or rather…was he even corporeal right now? Wherever they were he could touch and feel, but did he have a flesh body?  
“You _stupid_ little ant!” 

Sam grunted at his hair being yanked too hard to be sexy, and before he knew it, his back smacked into a wall with a metallic rattle. But this wasn’t the first time Sam had been hurled at a wall, so he staggered to his feet just in time to dodge Michael’s fist – then he just about froze in shock at several things. First and right in his face, Michael looked like young John Winchester and had wings. Two, huge, shining white wings tucked behind his back. Second of all, behind the wall of wrathful archangel was his body and Adam’s body just chilling on the floor. Add that to the list of creepy things he never needed to see. Third of all…walls of interwoven metal rose around them, like a huge, gilded…well, Cage. It was probably wide enough for Michael’s wings at full stretch both lengthways and sideways with a little room, but probably not enough to fly. But that wasn’t Sam’s biggest problem at the moment. 

Michael’s other fist snapped around, and he had just enough time to duck, but was met by a holy knee to the ribs. From the resounding _crack_ , Sam figured that although he wasn’t actually _in_ his body, everything seemed to be working in a very similar way. He braced for the next blow, but it never came; there was a harsh bang and Sam looked up to see the back of two other brilliant white wings – Lucifer’s wings. The archangel strode over to Michael, who was sprawled against the opposite wall, lifted him up by the front of the shirt and smacked him so hard in the jaw Sam saw a tooth dance across the floor. To the right, Adam had kinda gone into hedgehog mode in the Cage corner on Michael’s side, but Sam supposed the guy probably hated his guts as much as the rest of the sausagefest he’d trapped in here.  
“You’re _defending him?_ ” Michael gasped, and Sam wondered if that had been Lucifer’s end game or whether he _really_ just wanted to break Michael’s jaw. The hunter felt a bit empty, not knowing Satan’s emotions. Even though it had just been for a month or so, it had become so familiar.  
“I’ve broken enough promises today.” Lucifer growled, but Sam wasn’t sure whether he was just generally out of the shit for today, or whether tomorrow would be a one-way trip to Pain City – if the ‘I will never harm you’ promise was the one Lucifer referred to, of course. 

The Devil smacked his brother in the jaw again, but this time Michael took it, then dipped his wing down to gut Lucifer with the wicked claw that jutted out of the apex of the joint. Or would have done if Sam hadn’t leaped over there, broken ribs and all, thrown all his fucks to give to the wind for the second time today and threw an epic karate kick at the thing. The kick itself couldn’t have done any damage, but it was just enough that the point ripped a ragged line in Lucifer’s shirt and no more. The second he fell back, Sam remembered that Lucifer had mentioned ‘being turned to ash’ if he touched archangel wings. Whelp, it seemed in Soul Form that wasn’t so relevant, thank goodness. Otherwise that would have been a sudden end to this surprise Honeymoon of Pain.  
“You insolent – “ Michael dodged a satanic bitchslap and glared at Sam with absolute hatred, but couldn’t reach him past Lucifer. That didn’t stop mystical archangel magic though. Something white hot lanced up his legs, and Sam buckled to the ground with a cry. Looked like Michael was pissy about being set on fire and now thought it would be fun to set other people on fire. Oh joy. But Sam didn’t get to enjoy being a human torch for long, as Lucifer grabbed Michael’s head and brought it to his knee with a solid crack. In the second that the older archangel was momentarily stunned, Lucifer span around, reached toward him and then…

Sam blinked once to make sure it was real. Then blinked again.  
He was still in the Cage but…alone. No Michael, no Lucifer, no creepy ass empty bodies and no shit-scared Adam in a nervous huddle in the corner. Just him and a weird static rumble that he figured must come from outside.  
“Lucifer?” Sam eased himself off the ground but it seemed Lucifer had healed him as well as…done whatever this was. That was a bit of a comfort – no matter how pissed of the Devil was at him, he still didn’t want Sam to be a deep-fried human burger. But now Lucifer didn’t have backup. And this…even though he’d only been here for a few moments, it was so empty. Lonely. Maybe it was because he’d had Lucifer smooshed up inside him for weeks, but God…Lucifer had been this isolated for, what 3 million years? He was surprised the archangel hadn’t gone insane. No wonder he’d loved being so close to Sam all the time. Ugh. The hunter put his feels aside for a moment, because it didn’t feel all that right after the bastard had murdered Cas, Bobby and wrecked Dean’s beautiful face. RIP Dean’s beautiful face. Sam sighed paced over to what he called ‘Lucifer’s side’ of the Cage. He didn’t want to phase back in or whatever to find himself trapped between the wrong pissed off archangel and a wall. That was a pain party he didn’t want to crash.  
So Sam paced, and sat and leaned against the walls and paced again. It could have been hours or days, but without hunger or tiredness, he couldn’t tell.

The hunter had just sat back down to trace the patterns on the wall for what seemed like the hundredth time, when there was a whoosh of movement. Sam turned, ready to hurl himself to the side if it was Michael on a skewering mission or to be frosty as a frosty shake if it was Lucifer, but that kinda melted when he took in the sight. It was Lucifer, but blood dripped from his mouth and nose; his face was a myriad of different-coloured bruises, scratches and gashes from Michael’s wing-claws pooled blood across his shirt and jeans and his feathers stuck up at different angles.  
“Michael called time out. He got rusty preening in Heaven.” Lucifer slurred a little, and Sam just couldn’t bring himself to give him the cold shoulder. Well, much.  
“I thought you’d let Michael pulverize me. Or do you want to do it yourself?” For some reason, that was the first thing that came out of Sam’s mouth. Not ‘where the shit are we’.  
“You begged for me to stop and I didn’t. I guess you had every right to do the same to me.” Lucifer didn’t look at him with those stupid, totally not forget-me-not eyes as he crossed the floor and eased himself with a pained hiss down beside Sam. “And now we’re both trapped in this dump again.” 

Lucifer spat out blood but more of a resigned spit than an angry one. Sam kept his eyes on the wall, because he knew that if he looked at his injured archangel husband he’d start getting pesky emotions.  
“Is this another part of the Cage?” He kept a neutral tone, because no matter how pissed off he was at Lucifer, that wouldn’t bring Cas, Bobby or Dean’s beautiful face back. And he was committed to Lucifer now more than ever; life in the Cage would be absolute shit if they stayed at odds with each other.  
“When you’ve been here as long as I have, you start learning tricks.” Lucifer sighed. “Archangels, we can create pockets of reality – like Gabriel’s TV House of Horrors as you put it. So long as I create them within the space of the Cage, they work. Michael will have to go through a maze of them to find this one.”  
Sam let the answer lie in silence, because he didn’t really know how to move on. They’d both fucked each other up and not in the fun way, but at least now humanity didn’t have to get Kentucky Fried and Lucifer didn’t have to shank Michael if he didn’t want to.  
  
It must have been a minute or more before Lucifer talked again, and this time his voice was soft and sad. “I’m sorry I killed your friends and hurt Dean, Sammy. I just…I should have listened to you. It was idiotic and blinded by rage, by Michael…”  
His sentence choked off, but the next words were full of heavy resolve. “I understand if you can’t forgive me.”  
Sam risked a glance at his moron and sighed. “You’re damn right. You’re an idiot but… you’re my idiot.”  
He shuffled over just a little bit. Despite being a friend-murdering asshole, Sam was all Lucifer had, and the bastard was trying with all his heart to make things right again. Maybe it was weakness, maybe it was (dare he say it) love, but he couldn’t let the archangel descend into misery and feel hated by everyone and everything. So Sam inwardly pulled the finger at that hypocrite God and forgave the Devil. “Sorry I locked you up for another billion years or whatever.”  
Lucifer shuffled a little closer as well, until their legs touched and his right wing stretched out behind Sam like a cheesy arm-over-the-shoulders stretch during a movie. But the moment was cut a bit short when Sam literally began to glow.  
“What the hell…” He looked at his own hands as they shone white-blue. Lucifer’s wide-bowed lips curled upwards into a smile, and he looked at Sam as though he were too precious for this world. “What??”  
“You’re a soul right now, and raw souls contain a great deal of power.” Lucifer still looked at he was the cutest kitten and Sam pulled a bitchface to move the explanation on. “You’re trying to heal me, you adorable little thing.”

Oh. He wasn’t really sure what to say to that. Sam opened his mouth then closed it and looked over what skin of the archangel’s he could see. Lucifer _did_ look much better – the gashes were almost closed, the bruises had yellowed and faded and his teeth weren’t red with blood anymore.  
“Is it working?”  
“I’m healing myself too, but yes.” Lucifer reached up, still with that warm smile, and caught Sam’s chin between his thumb and fingers. There was a _shwuf_ of feathers on the stone floor as that gigantic wing curled around him a little bit. “It feels nice.”  
This sneaky bastard. But before Lucifer could pull him into a smooch, those untidy, messed up feathers caught his eye. Now Sam wasn’t OCD extraordinaire, but that would piss him off if he didn’t fix it.  
“You’ve got…let me - ” He knelt up, away from Lucifer’s hand, and reached over the bone to tease them back into place. The little ones at the top were all downy floof, which seemed kinda cute for Satan, and they petered off into scales near Lucifer’s own Tiger’s Eye-coloured wing talons. Out of curiosity, he caught it in his palm and stroked the crystal-smooth, cool surface all the way to that wicked, razor-sharp point. Awesome. Sam then noticed some of the bright white feathers on the underside had been knocked out of line, and stroked his thumb against the quills to slide the bigger ones back into place. Jeez. Now that he’d started, he kinda wanted to go over the whole thing. Would Lucifer mind? Sam glanced down at Satan, then dropped his hand like lightning. 

Lucifer gazed at him like a priest might look at God, but sexier. His eyes had gone glassy, his mouth had dropped open a little and a flush covered the remaining bruises on his cheeks. The archangel’s elbows had dropped onto his crossed legs, and his back bent over a little, like someone getting a massage. But it was the wonderment in his eyes that struck Sam dumb for a moment.  
“Don’t stop.” Lucifer’s voice was hoarse, near shaking. “Please don’t stop.”  
Well, Sam got to touch more nice soft feathers and Lucifer seemed to be enjoying this more than a lot, so it was a win-win, huh? It’d be nice after their epic failures of this morning. So he carded his fingers down along the inner feathers; some he brushed back into place, others were so mangled he had to tease them out, and the rest Sam just touched because the little helpless noises Lucifer made into his own hand were priceless. 

When the inner feathers of the right wing were all nice and sorted, Sam stood and went to check the back ones he hadn’t been able to reach; the feathers were thicker here but all crooked; levels of electric white all skewed across each other. He picked a knot of them that had probably been clawed by Michael, but the layers were so thick that he really had to dig his fingers in to settle them all right. It felt like pushing his hand into a freaking possum fur cloud.  
“Oh _mmmm!_ ” Lucifer muffled a noise with his hand, and Sam froze. Had that been painful? Was there a gash underneath?  
“Is that…ok?” Sam looked over the joint, but the angle was as useless as a pickpocket in a nudist camp to see Lucifer’s face.  
“It’s ok.” The archangel panted, and Sam could feel little tremors shake the feathers under and around his fingers. “It’s…very ok, damn it Sammy.”  
“Good.” 

If Lucifer had been expecting mercy, he’d picked the wrong man. Sam dug his fingers in again and shifted and teased the thick white down back into place as the archangel shuddered and muffled his own moans. By the time the hunter had worked across both the backs of the right and left wing, Lucifer had kind of given up on trying to stop them and it had Sam’s breath pick up and his cock swell to full attention. Shit. His plan had been to berate the Devil, not wing-fuck him or whatever this was. Ah well. He’d started this, so he may as well finish it – or that had been Sam’s resolve anyway. But when he circled around to start on the inside of Lucifer’s left wing, the thing swept forward and knocked him onto his knees.  
Before Sam had time to regain his breath or manage out a disgruntled ‘hey’, a strong arm hooked around his waist and dragged him along the floor.  
“H - mm!” Hot lips snatched the words out of Sam’s mouth as Lucifer seemed almost frantic, with quick rough kisses. Jeez, Lucifer being so aroused made Sam’s cock throb like mad, and he straddled those loose legs which had unfolded and splayed out in front of the Devil like a damn welcome mat.  
“Sorry, sorry, it’s been so long, I didn’t think I could take any more without – “ Lucifer lifted his hips an inch or so, and they both groaned as his fucking hard, hot erection pushed against Sam’s. God, Sam had never felt an erection that stiff. The archangel tensed and buried his face in Sam’s neck, and the hunter knew that if he ignored the warning signs and ground back against that impossible hardness, Lucifer would come right there and then. As sexy as that sounded, he wanted more, wanted to burn away their mistakes with passion.

“Clothes.” Sam nuzzled up Lucifer’s neck, breath hot along his skin, but he didn’t bite or suck at it; Lucifer had been beaten up enough today without adding rough sex to the equation. Big, strong hands smoothed down his back, and the fabric beneath them vanished. True, clothes and even a body were probably just their minds normalizing things, and to anyone who happened to be strolling past the Cage (low chances really), they probably looked like two balls of light gettin’ freaky. But Sam agreed with whatever made them humanoid because he’d _so_ much rather make out with gorgeous, scruffy Lucifer than a white ball of angel goop.  
“Yours too, cheater.” Sam murmured as Lucifer huffed kisses down the muscle of his left pec. Warm skin replaced the bloodied material beneath his fingers, and Sam leaned forward to press their chests together as his heart thudded through his ears.  
“You don’t deserve this.” Sam hummed, but undermined his words with kisses all the way up through Lucifer’s wiry blonde scruff and to his left ear.  
“You don’t either.” The archangel panted and nuzzled down the curve of his muscular shoulder as fingers and conjured lube found Sam’s hole. A breathy moan pushed past his lips and into Lucifer’s hair as he missed the archangel’s ear in his pleasure when those possessive fingers eased up inside him.  
“Oh-h fuck!” He whined and busied hands that shook in that blonde hair. Sam was so tempted to lean forward and fill his fingers with those huge white feathers, but knew Lucifer was so sensitive right now that this would be over far too quickly if he did.  
“You’re so…” Lucifer lapped at his collarbone and rubbed down Sam’s perineum with his thumb as those fingers stretched and flared tight heat inside him. “Electric.”

The word was barely a whisper, and it tingled up Sam’s body from the curve of his shoulder, down his sides, stomach and welled around where the archangel stroked his pleasure in slow, hungry movements. The hunter squeezed his eyes shut as a broken moan shuddered up through him and Lucifer slid out with a muted whine. Those huge wings shifted and scraped along the floor as little tremors convulsed through them. Maybe being a disembodied soul in Hell’s highest security prison with Satan and his pissed off brother had a feathered lining. God those wings were gorgeous.

A lazy glance passed between them, and that was all the cue Sam needed; he angled his hips forward, leant back from Lucifer’s chest and hung on to the archangel’s shoulders to line himself up with the Devil’s near-purple, slick cock. Sam tilted his head up to the ceiling as he sank down onto the thick heat and gasped with delight as his archangel claimed his soul as he’d claimed his body. Fuck that was so stiff he could hardly feel anything other than that hot cock entering him. Lucifer’s hungry, desperate grunts punched against his neck and he felt a shudder ripple through the being against him, inside him.  
“Yes, yes, yes – “ Sam’s breath hitched with an elated grin and he leaned back even further as Lucifer pushed in far enough to play against his sweet spot. The hands on his hips tightened, and impossible softness smoothed along his back, under his angled body, gathered him up and supported his weight.  
“Oh Sam, _uhn_ , Sam!” Lucifer cried and those huge wings rubbed up and down his sides and back, cradled him, urged him down further onto the cock he rode. Sam’s whole body sweltered with heat, shook around the impossible sensation of fullness that seemed to push right through everything he was. The silken feathers lit up every nerve on his back, sides and thighs as Lucifer engulfed him with them, pleasured himself against Sam’s skin. 

The kisses on Sam’s neck and shoulders became more frantic, punctuated with breathy moans; Lucifer began to shake under the hunter’s fingers and thighs, all the way through to his wings, which vibrated with a hollow peacock-like rattle. Oh Jesus. Sam had never thought wings of all things could be so erotic, and he couldn’t keep his hands off them any more. The hunter reached forward and scratched his nails through the feathers, near where the sprouted from the archangel’s back, and a shock rippled through his lover as though the Devil had been electrified.  
“Sam, Sam, Sam – “ Lucifer clung to him as ecstasy mangled the words into desperate, high moans, and Sam’s whole body shivered, then prickled with heat, but he wasn’t quite there, fuck… Then Lucifer threw his head back with a mangled scream and convulsed underneath him, writhed like a snake at the force of his orgasm. The space was filled with the _whump_ of frenzied wings, and the cock inside Sam took him hard, with pumps of hot come. Sam clung to the archangel, gritted his teeth and arched inwards, ready, so ready to come but it wasn’t quite enough, _god fucking damn it._

Sam’s whole body quivered and burned with need, his cock throbbed in a sticky curve out from his body, but Lucifer just slowed and softened under him. True, he’d unlocked the achievement of making the Devil come first, but the bastard couldn’t leave him like this.  
_“Lucifer!”_ Sam growled out from behind gritted teeth and pleading eyes. The archangel’s wings unfolded from him and dragged on the ground as Lucifer leaned back against the Cage wall. Sam bent over him, caught his mouth in an impatient kiss, then flinched through his whole body as a calloused hand trailed up his aching, untouched erection.  
“Forgive me, precious. I haven’t had my wings pleasured by someone else in millions of years.” Lucifer’s hand curled around him in a tight grasp, and Sam gulped down lungfuls of air as that cock inside him swelled again – it was probably more for his benefit than Lucifer being interested in another round, but right now he didn’t care.  
“Finish me – off – and then – I’ll forgive – you.” Sam gasped, then cried as a shock of power pulsed down his cock and into his stomach, but Lucifer was playing with him, Lucifer still wouldn’t let him come. “You – “

 _Whump whump_  
“Lucifer – oh my goodness.” Michael’s voice went from ‘fight me’ to ‘why’ in half a second. He threw in a horrified facepalm for good measure. The asshole archangel who Sam had decided to marry didn’t seem to have a shred of decency and smirked as Sam felt a flush creep all over his body. And Lucifer didn’t stop, instead thrust up into his body as well. It was even more stupid that although Sam had to bury his face in Lucifer’s shoulder to stop him dying all over again from embarrassment, a rush of excitement at being fucking watched shot up his cock.  
“What do you want, Michael?” Lucifer asked pleasantly as Sam grappled his shoulders, convulsed, tried to hold down his orgasm, because he couldn’t fucking come in front of Lucifer’s frickin brother. God, _shit_ …  
“Come, uh, fight me when you’re…um done.” Michael sounded as though he wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him, but sadly for the King of Heaven, it already had. An evil chuckle vibrated in Lucifer’s throat as lights buzzed behind Sam’s eyelids, and he tried to smother his moans in the archangel’s shoulder, but he was too close, fuck, he could feel it building deep inside like a tidal wave.  
“Coming.” Lucifer smirked shit and snapped into such a quick, electric rhythm that on just the first stroke a harsh cry boiled up Sam’s throat. He would have come straight away, but Lucifer tugged his sack down just a bit and suspended him on that ecstatic edge, convulsing, scratching and moaning, unable to even try and retain some dignity. His seed pumped onto Lucifer’s chest and stomach, and he clung to the amused Devil as shivers and spikes of pleasure wracked through him. Shit. Michael’s mortified face would have been hilarious if it hadn’t been at Sam’s expense. That fucking, fucking satanic asshole. 

“You know what, I’m just gonna leave.” Michael broke his own shocked silence. “You’re still a monster and I still need to end you, though. You’re…not off the hook.”  
Lucifer just blew him a kiss over Sam’s sweat-slick shoulder with a smile, then did a conceited little wave. Only when Sam heard the wingbeat of an eternally scarred Michael did he lift his damp forehead out of the curve of Satan’s neck.  
“You dick.” He managed out, but his sassy tone was undermined by his unfocussed eyes and limp body.  
“I know you enjoy an audience.” Lucifer laughed, as though he knew what he’d just said was going to make Sam try and glare more.  
“I hate you.” Sam flopped back down against Lucifer’s chest, and the blonde hoe grinned.  
“I hate you too, pretty thing.”  
Maybe ‘I hate you’ will be our ‘I love you’ Sam thought as he tried and failed to glower at the wall behind them. In fact, a little chuckle vibrated his stomach, then tumbled into a giggle, then rolled into a fully-fledged laugh. He felt Lucifer’s stomach jump with laughter too, and the silly pair of them sat in the most feared prison of Heaven, Hell and Earth and laughed until their eyes watered. 

When they both came down from their hysterics, which had been reignited several times by Lucifer or Sam wheezing out ‘Michael’s face!’, Lucifer reached forward and tucked a stray strand of hair over Sam’s ear.  
“I think I’m going to enjoy this round in the Cage much better than last time.” The Devil grinned, and Sam smiled back. A warm glow from both his recent orgasm and the strange contentment he always felt around Lucifer simmered in his stomach. If this is what forgiveness felt like, he couldn’t get enough of it.  
“Oh?”  
“Well, Michael’s gonna get tired of fighting me soon enough, and there’s no HBO in the pit.” Lucifer smirked and trailed his less sticky hand down Sam’s side. “Just me, you and whatever our imaginations can come up with.”  
“And this is meant to be hell?” Sam caught those charismatic lips. “Sounds more like Heaven to me.”  
“Oh, just wait till 200 years in. We’ll be hating each other’s guts by then, I’m sure.” Lucifer grinned and kissed him through a chuckle.  
“200 years? More like two, you asshole.” Sam raised his eyebrows with a smug smile, fully aware of how Lucifer liked to treat sass like that.  
“What did you say?” Lucifer ran a finger up his spine with an amused look.  
“Mo – “ Sam started but Lucifer ducked forward and kissed the words right out of his mouth. As soon as he pulled back, Sam tried again, and Lucifer kissed him again and before they knew it, they were both kissing and laughing like they’d won the $100 million lottery jackpot.

***

And so Sam and Lucifer buckled up for an eternity of every kind of fantasy they could come up with, Bobby and Castiel were resurrected, and Dean, although he tried everything to rescue his brother (who so totally did not need rescuing), ended up happily hunting with his angel boyfriend. God decided that his Apocalypse idea had been a little extreme and that Lucifer had been halfway right. He, by way of blessed carrier dove, sanctified a Slight Angelic Interference Act, wherein the Host was allowed to subtly boost people beneficial to the world and discourage douchebags, because that seemed like a generally Better Idea. But God still didn’t go back to Heaven because, through an interesting branch of the butterfly effect, Gabriel was still alive and He couldn’t be bothered to put up with the Trickster’s shit for the next millennia. 

Only Michael and Adam got the short straw, but after a few decades, bonded over their mutual animosity towards Sam and Lucifer’s loud, unruly sex noises from the depths of another reality. They set up a bachelor pad in their own pocket reality and mostly passed the time playing Dark Souls, World of Warcraft and Left4Dead. Sometimes Sam and Lucifer would come over, and the two archangel brothers would beat the shit out of each other in Mortal Kombat X or the aptly named Smite, but never really came to blows in reality. So in the end, not only had Dongle the janitor Demon saved his Magnificent Overlord Lucifer, but also Heaven and Earth as well. Good old Dongle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness. It is finished!! I hope the ending was everything y'all hoped for - I have to say, I'm very happy with it! :D But honestly - a HUGE thank you to all of you who have left kudos and comments especially. I probably wouldn't have finished this without you all, and you've constantly made my day, made me smile, and made me feel like sharing my writing for free definitely has rewards. You are all amazing and deserve to give yourselves a pat on the back. Like, I cannot express how much your interactions mean to me ‧⁺( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ◡ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ )⁺‧
> 
> Other than that, I hope this fic helps inspire some more fun, safe, kinky fics in the original universe, because (I know I've said it so many times before) but the Samifer tag needs em so bad! On that note, I promised you a surprise, and here it is:  
> [The first chapter to my next fic!!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8900263/chapters/20397370) :D  
> It is a little more serious than this one, but buckle up - it's an epic adventure I promise, and I might end up changing the names and turning it into an actual book. We shall see ;)
> 
> But as always, I would love to know what you thought of the chapter, I love you all, and stay awesome everybody .｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ଘ( ᐛ ) ଓ+..｡*ﾟ+  
>   
> Check out my novel: [ x ](https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/tea-in-the-outback)  
> Or [shout me a drink](https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=TT3Q6W95QFSM2) if you're feeling generous! ♡


End file.
